"Yes, my son; we understand that you were obliged to leave in a hurry

or not at all. But what made you become a Christian?"

"Because I felt I was a sinner."

"Did you pray, my son?"

"Yes, sir; and I feel that through the mercy of Jesus Christ my sins

are pardoned."

It was a simple narrative, and expressed with evident consciousness

of the solemnity of the declaration. It was plain that in spiritual

things these people were further advanced than in business matters.

The evidence was satisfactory, and the member received by an extension

of right hand of fellowship on the part of the pastor. In the evening

Rev. Mr. Murchison preached from the text, "And they shall call upon

the rocks and mountains to fall upon them," &c.

It was a crude, disjointed discourse, having very little logic, a

great many large words, some of them ludicrously misapplied, yet

contained striking thoughts, and appropriate similes. This was a

congregation standing on the lowest step of civilization. Minister and

people were but a twelvemonth out of bondage. All behind them was

barbarism. Before them was a future, unrevealed, but infinitely better

than what their past had been. Their meeting was orderly, and I have

seen grave legislative bodies in quite as much of a muddle over a

simple question as that congregation of black men emerging from their

long night of darkness.

On the following Sunday I was present at a service on Ladies' Island.

The owner of the plantation where the meeting was held erected his

house in full view of Beaufort, and near the bank of the stream where

the tide ebbs and flows upon the sandy beach. It was a mean mansion,

standing on posts, to give free circulation to the air underneath. In

hot summer days the shade beneath the house was the resort of all the

poultry of the premises. Thousands of hard-working New England

mechanics live in better houses, yet from Beaufort the place made an

imposing show, surrounded by orange and magnolia trees. The sandy

acres of the plantation stretched towards St. Helena. A short distance

from the planter's house were the weather-beaten cabins of the

negroes, mere hovels, without window-panes, with mud chimneys,--the

homes of generations who had gone from the darkness and hopelessness

of a wearying life to the rest and quiet of the grave.

On that morning when Admiral Dupont shelled the Rebels out of the

forts at Hilton Head and Bay Point, the owner of these acres made a

hasty exit from his house. He sent his overseer to the cabins to hurry

up the negroes, but to his surprise not a negro was to be found. The

colored people had heard the thundering down the bay. They knew its

meaning. It set their hearts beating as they never had throbbed before.

It was the sweetest music they ever had heard. A horseman came riding

furiously up to the house, with terror in his countenance. The master

hastened out to know how the battle was going.

"The Yankees have taken the forts!" said the messenger. The master

became pale.

"You had better get your negroes together, and be ready for a move,"

said the messenger.

Sharp ears had heard all this,--the ears of Sam, a colored man, who,

seeing the herald arrive in hot haste, had the curiosity to hear what

he had to say, then bounded like a deer to the cabins, running from

door to door, whispering to the inmates, "To the woods! to the woods!

De Yankees hab taken de forts,--massa is going to de mainland, and is

going to take us wid him."

The cabins were deserted in an instant; and five minutes later, when

the overseer came round to gather his drove of human cattle, he found

empty hovels. The planter and his overseer were obliged to do their

own hasty packing up.

The plantation was in the hands of a warm-hearted Christian gentleman

from Massachusetts, Mr. Norton. The people of the estate gathered for

worship in the large parlor of the house.

The room was eighteen or twenty feet square, and had a wide-mouthed

fireplace, in which a cheerful fire of pitch knots was blazing. There

was a settee, a mahogany sideboard, where the former owner was

accustomed to quaff his wines and liquors. Seats and chairs were

brought in. The big dinner-bell was rung, and the people, thirty or

forty in number, came in, men, women, and children. Some of the women

brought their infants. Uncle Jim, the patriarch of the plantation, was

too feeble to attend. The superintendent, Mr. Norton, comforted his

heart by reading to him a chapter in the Bible and offering prayers in

the miserable cabin, where the old man was lying on a pile of rags.

Uncle Jim was a sincere Christian. The word of God was sweet to him.

His heart overflowed with thanks and praise, for the display of God's

great goodness to him and his people.

A hymn was lined off by Mr. Norton, after the fashion of our fathers.

William, a stout, middle-aged man, struck into St. Martin's, and the

congregation joined, not reading the music exactly as good old Tansur

composed it, for there were crooks, turns, slurs, and appoggiaturas,

not to be found in any printed copy. It was sung harshly, nasally, and

dragged out in long, slow notes.

A pure-blooded negro, Sancho, offered prayer. He had seen great

hardship in life and had suffered more than his namesake, the squire,

who was once unceremoniously tossed in a blanket. His prayer was the

free utterance of a warm heart. It was a familiar talk with Jesus, his

best friend. He improved the opportunity to mingle an exhortation with

his supplication. He thus addressed the unconverted:--

"O, my poor, impenitent fellow-sinner, what you think you are doing?

Where you think you are going? Death will ride up soon in a big black

carriage and take you wid him down to de regions of deep darkness. Why

don't you repent now, and den he will carry you up into de light of

paradise!"

Looking forward to the hour of the Christian's release from the

bondage of this life, he said, in conclusion, "And now, good Lord,

when we have done chaw all de hard bones and swallowed all de bitter

pills, we trust de good Lord will take us to himself."

After an address from the superintendent, Sancho rose.

"My belobed friends," said he, "I neber 'spected to see such a day as

dis yere. For twenty years, I hired my time of old massa, I was

'bleeged to pay him twelve dollars a month in advance, and if I didn't

hab de money ready, he wollopped me. But I's a free man now. De good

Lord hab done it all. I can't read. It is de great desire ob my heart

to learn to read, so dat I can read de Bible all my own self; but I's

too old to learn. But I rejoice dat my chillen can hab de opportunity

to study de precious word. De Lord is doin great tings for us in dese

yere days. Ole massa, was a purty good massa, and I prays de Lord to

make him lay down his weapons ob rebellion and become a good Union man

and a disciple ob de Lord Jesus, for Jesus tells us dat we must lub

our enemies."

After the exercises of the religious meeting were concluded, the

chairs were set aside, and they began a "praise meeting," or singing

meeting. Most of their music is plaintive. The piece frequently

commences with a recitative by one voice, and at the end of the first

line the chorus joins. The words are often improvised to suit the

occasion.

A favorite song is "Roll, Jordan, roll," in which the progression of

the melody is very descriptive of the rolling of waves upon the beach.

There are many variations of the melody, but that here given is as I

heard it sung by the negroes of Bythewood.

[Music: ROLL JORDAN.

Little children sitting on the tree of life. To hear the Jordan roll; O

roll, Jordan roll, Jordan roll, Jordan roll. We march the angel march, O

march the angel march, O my soul is rising heavenward To hear the Jordan roll.]

The verses vary only in recitation. If Mr. Jones is present he will

hear, "Mr. Jones is sitting on the tree of life." There is no pause,

and before the last roll is ended the one giving the recitative places

another personage on the tree, and thus Jordan rolls along.

As the song goes on the enthusiasm rises. They sing louder and

stronger. The recitative is given with increased vigor, and the chorus

swells with increasing volume. They beat time, at first, with their

hands, then their feet. They rise from their seats. William begins to

shuffle his feet. Anna, a short, thick-set woman, wearing a checkered

dress, and an apron, which once was a window-curtain, claps her hands,

makes a short, quick jerk of her body, stamps her feet on the

unaccented part of the measure, keeping exact syncopation. Catherine

and Sancho catch the inspiration. They go round in a circle,

shuffling, jerking, shouting louder and louder, while those outside of

the circle respond with increasing vigor, all stamping, clapping their

hands, and rolling out the chorus. William seems to be in a trance,

his eyes are fixed, yet he goes on with a double-shuffle, till the

perspiration stands in beads upon his face. Every joint seems hung on

wires. Feet, legs, arms, head, body, and hands swing and jump like a

child's dancing Dandy Jim. Sancho enters into it with all his heart,

soul, mind, and might, clapping his hands, rolling his eyes, looking

upward in ecstasy and outward upon the crowd, as if he were their

spiritual father and guardian.

Thus it went on till nature was exhausted. When the meeting broke up,

they all came round in procession, shaking hands with the

superintendent and the strangers present, and singing a parting song,

"There's a meeting here to-night!"

The superintendent informed me that the children who attended school

could not be coaxed to take part in those praise meetings. They had

learned to sing Sunday-school songs, and evidently looked upon the

plantation songs of their fathers and mothers as belonging to their

bondage and not worthy to be sung now that they were free.

A short distance from Hilton Head is the town of Mitchelville, laid

out by the lamented astronomer, General Mitchell, who fell a victim to

the yellow-fever in the summer of 1862. The town is on a broad sandy

plain, bordered by groves and thickets of live-oak, palmetto, and the

coast pine.

At that time there were about seventy houses,--or cabins rather,--of

the rudest description, built of logs, chinked with clay brought up

from the beach, roofs of long split shingles, board floors, windows

with shutters,--plain board blinds, without sash or glass. Each house

had a quarter of an acre of land attached. There was no paint or lime,

not even whitewash, about them. It was just such a place as might be

expected in a new country, where there were no saw-mills or

brick-kilns,--a step in advance of a hole in the ground or a bark

wigwam. It was the beginning of the experiment of civilization on the

part of a semi-barbarous people just released from abject bondage, and

far from being free men.

I looked into the first cabin, and seeing an old man sitting before

the fire, greeted him with "How do you do, Uncle?" the sobriquet of

all middle-aged negro men.

"'Pears how I'm rather poorly,--I's got de chills, boss."

He was a slave in Florida, made his escape from his master's

plantation fifty miles inland, reached Fernandina, and entered the

lines of the Union army. He was dressed in pants made of old

sailcloth, and the tattered cast-off blouse of a Union soldier. The

room was twelve feet square. I could see through the chinking in a

hundred places. At the coping of the roof, where it should have joined

the wall, there was a wide opening all around, which allowed all the

warmth to escape. The furniture consisted of three tables, four

chairs, a mahogany wash-stand, all of which once stood in the mansion

of some island planter. There was a Dutch-oven on the hearth, the

sight of which made my mouth water for the delicious tea-cakes of

childhood. There were pots, kettles, baskets, and bags, and a pile of

rags, old blankets which the soldiers had thrown aside. It required

but a few words to thaw out Uncle Jacob, who at once commenced

fumbling in his pockets, producing, after a studious search, a brown

paper, carefully folded, enclosing the name of a gentleman in New York

who had taken home Uncle Jacob's nephew. He wanted me to read it to

him,--the name, the street, the number,--that he might learn it by

heart.

"He is learning to write, boss, and I shall have a letter from him by

and by," said the old man, in glee. He handed me three letters, all

from men who once were slaves, not written by them individually, but

by amanuenses. One was a sailor on the gunboat Ottawa, off Charleston;

one was in New York city, and the third in Ohio.

"Please, boss, I should like to hab you read 'em," he said.

It was a pleasure to gratify the kind-hearted man, who listened with

satisfaction beaming from every line of his countenance.

Uncle Jacob had been five months in the employ of the United States,

unloading vessels at Hilton Head, and had received only his rations

and a little clothing.

"Well, Uncle Jacob, which would you rather be, a freeman or a slave?"

I asked.

"O, Lor' bless you, boss, I wouldn't like to be a slave again."

"Do you think you can take care of yourself?"

"Jes let gubberment pay me, boss, and see if I can't."

It was spoken with great earnestness.

In the next cabin I found Peter, who had taken the name of Brown, that

of his former master. Slavery gave its victims but one name. General

Mitchell said that they were entitled to another name, and he ordered

that they should take that of their former masters; hence there are

Peter Beauregards, James Trenholms, Susan Rhetts, Julia Barnwells, on

the plantations of the Sea Islands.

"Mr. Brown, did you ever hear about the Abolitionists?" I asked.

"Yes, sir, tank you, I's he'd of 'em."

"What did you hear about them?"

"O, dey is a werry bad sort of people, sir. Old massa said dat if dey

could get a chance dey would take all our pickaninnies and smash der

brains out agin de trees!"

"Did you ever see an Abolitionist?"

"No, sir, tank you, nebber saw one."

"Well, Mr. Brown, I am one."

Mr. Brown started involuntarily. He looked me all over from head to

feet, giving a keen search. "'Pears how I shouldn't tink you could hab

de heart to do it, sir."

"Do I look as though I should like to kill your little ones?"

"No, sir, I don't tink you would."

I told him who the Abolitionists were, and what they wished to

do,--that they were friends of the slaves, and always had been. He

grasped my hand, and said, "God bless you, sir." And then burst into

hearty laughter.

Having been informed that it would be impossible to obtain a fowl of

the negroes at that season of the year, I made the attempt; but though

I offered treble the value, not one would part with a hen. They were

looking forward to broods of chickens which would bring them in

"heaps" of money in the fall of the year. The negro race understands

the value of money quite as well as we who boast of Anglo-Saxon blood.

Entering the head-quarters of the commanding officer one day, I saw a

thin, spare colored woman sitting before the fire. She nodded and

smiled, ran her eyes over me, as if to take in every feature or

peculiarity of my person and dress, then gazed into the fire and

seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. A friend said, "That is our

Sojourner Truth."

She had brought off several companies of negroes from the mainland,

and had given a great deal of information concerning the movements of

the Rebels. She had penetrated swamps, endured hardships, eluded Rebel

pickets, visiting the plantations at midnight, and conversing with the

slaves.

"I can travel all through the South, I reckon," she said.

"Are you not afraid that the Rebels will catch you?"

"Well, honey, I reckon they couldn't keep me," she said, with a smile.

She had exhibited such remarkable shrewdness and finesse in her

exploits, and had rendered such valuable services to the department,

that she was held in high esteem.

At that time, Mrs. Frances D. Gage, favorably known as a writer for

the press, was residing on Paris Island. Seated one evening by the

bright fire blazing on her hearth, I listened to her narrative of

Sojourner Truth, who had been a slave, who had penetrated the far

South in search of her lost children, who had run off many slaves to

Canada, and who went round the country, impelled by the conviction

that she had been called of God to testify against the sins of the

people; hence her name, "Sojourner Truth."

[Illustration: The Nation's Ward.]

The narration revealed traits of character, not unfrequently seen

in the negro race, and it will not be out of place in this chapter,

which is intended to give the position of a race at its lowest plane

of life.

This wonderful woman lives in modern art. She is the original Libyan

Sibyl, a statue by Mr. Story, which was more impressive than all

others in the gallery of the World's Exhibition in London in 1862.

Sojourner once called upon Mrs. Stowe, who has given us this account

of the interview:[44]--

[Footnote 44: Atlantic Monthly, April, 1863.]

On her head she wore a bright Madras handkerchief, arranged as a

turban, after the manner of her race. She seemed perfectly

self-possessed and at her ease,--in fact, there was almost an

unconscious superiority, not unmixed with a solemn twinkle of

humor, in the odd, composed manner in which she looked down on

me. Her whole air had at times a gloomy sort of drollery which

impressed one strangely.

"So, this is _you_," she said.

"Yes," I answered.

"Well, honey, de Lord bless ye! I jes' thought I'd like to come

an' have a look at ye. You's heerd o' me, I reckon?" she added.

"Yes, I think I have. You go about lecturing, do you not?"

"Yes, honey, that's what I do. The Lord has made me a sign unto

this nation, an' I go round a-testifyin', an' showin' on 'em

their sins agin my people."

So saying, she took a seat, and, stooping over and crossing her

arms on her knees, she looked down on the floor, and appeared to

fall into a sort of revery. Her great gloomy eyes and her dark

face seemed to work with some undercurrent of feeling; she sighed

deeply, and occasionally broke out,--

"O Lord! O Lord! Oh, the tears, an' the groans, an' the moans! O

Lord!"

* * * * *

By this time I thought her manner so original that it might be

worth while to call down my friends; and she seemed perfectly

well pleased with the idea. An audience was what she wanted,--it

mattered not whether high or low, learned or ignorant. She had

things to say, and was ready to say them at all times, and to any

one.

I called down Dr. Beecher, Professor Allen, and two or three

other clergymen, who, together with my husband and family, made a

roomful. No princess could have received a drawing-room with more

composed dignity than Sojourner her audience. She stood among

them calm and erect as one of her own native palm-trees waving

alone in the desert. I presented one after another to her, and at

last said,--

"Sojourner, this is Dr. Beecher. He is a very celebrated

preacher."

"_Is_ he?" she said, offering her hand in a condescending manner,

and looking down on his white head. "Ye dear lamb, I'm glad to

see ye! De Lord bless ye! I loves preachers. I'm a kind o'

preacher myself."

"You are?" said Dr. Beecher. "Do you preach from the Bible?"

"No, honey, can't preach from de Bible,--can't read a letter."

"Why, Sojourner, what do you preach from, then?"

Her answer was given with a solemn power of voice, peculiar to

herself, that hushed every one in the room.

"When I preaches, I has jest one text to preach from, an' I

always preaches from this one. _My_ text is, 'WHEN I FOUND

JESUS.'"

"Well, you couldn't have a better one," said one of the

ministers.

She paid no attention to him, but stood and seemed swelling with

her own thoughts, and then began this narration:--

"Well, now, I'll jest have to go back, an' tell ye all about it.

Ye see, we was all brought over from Africa, father an' mother

an' I, an' a lot more of us; an' we was sold up an' down, an'

hither an' yon; an' I can 'member, when I was a little thing, not

bigger than this 'ere," pointing to her grandson, "how my ole

mammy would sit out o' doors in the evenin', an' look up at the

stars an' groan. She'd groan an' groan, an' says I to her,--

"'Mammy, what makes you groan so?'

"An' she'd say,--

"'Matter enough, chile! I'm groanin' to think o' my poor

children: they don't know where I be, an' I don't know where they

be: they looks up at the stars, an' I looks up at the stars, but

I can't tell where they be.

"'Now,' she said, 'chile, when you're grown up, you may be sold

way from your mother an' all your ole friends, an' have great

troubles come on ye; an' when you has these troubles come on ye,

ye jes' go to God, an' He'll help ye.'

"An' says I to her,--

"'Who is God, anyhow, mammy?'

"An' says she,--

"'Why, chile, you jes' look up _dar_! It's Him that made all

_dem_!'

"Well, I didn't mind much 'bout God in them days. I grew up

pretty lively an' strong, an' could row a boat, or ride a horse,

or work round, an' do 'most anything.

"At last I got sold away to a real hard massa an' missis. Oh, I

tell you, they _was_ hard! 'Peared like I couldn't please 'em

nohow. An' then I thought o' what my old mammy told me about God;

an' I thought I'd got into trouble, sure enough, an' I wanted to

find God, an' I heerd some one tell a story about a man that met

God on a threshin'-floor, an' I thought, 'Well an' good, I'll

have a threshin'-floor, too.' So I went down in the lot, an' I

threshed down a place real hard, an' I used to go down there

every day, an' pray an' cry with all my might, a-prayin' to the

Lord to make my massa an' missis better, but it didn't seem to do

no good; an' so says I, one day,--

"'O God, I been a-askin' ye, an' askin' ye, an askin' ye, for all

this long time, to make my massa an' missis better, an' you don't

do it, an' what _can_ be the reason? Why, maybe you _can't_.

Well, I shouldn't wonder ef you couldn't. Well, now, I tell you,

I'll make a bargain with you. Ef you'll help me git away from my

massa an' missis, I'll agree to be good; but ef you don't help

me, I really don't think I can be. Now,' says I,'I want to git

away; but the trouble's jest here: ef I try to git away in the

night, I can't see; an' ef I try to git away in the daytime,

they'll see me, an' be after me.'

"Then the Lord said to me, 'Get up two or three hours afore

daylight, an' start off.'

"An' says I, 'Thank'ee, Lord! that's a good thought.'

"So up I got, about three o'clock in the mornin', an' I started

an' travelled pretty fast, till, when the sun rose, I was clear

away from our place an' our folks, an' out o' sight. An' then I

begun to think I didn't know nothin' where to go. So I kneeled

down, an' says I,--

"'Well, Lord, you've started me out, an' now please to show me

where to go.'

"Then the Lord made a house appear to me, an' He said to me that

I was to walk on till I saw that house, an' then go in an' ask

the people to take me. An' I travelled all day, an' didn't come

to the house till late at night; but when I saw it, sure enough,

I went in, an' I told the folks the Lord sent me; an' they was

Quakers, an' real kind they was to me. They jes' took me in, an'

did for me as kind as ef I'd been one of 'em; an' after they'd

giv me supper, they took me into a room where there was a great,

tall, white bed; an' they told me to sleep there. Well, honey, I

was kind o' skeered when they left me alone with that great white

bed; 'cause I never had been in a bed in my life. It never came

into my mind they could mean me to sleep in it An' so I jes'

camped down under it, on the floor, an' then I slep' pretty well.

In the mornin', when they came in, they asked me ef I hadn't been

asleep; an' I said, 'Yes I never slep' better.' An' they said,

'Why, you haven't been in the bed!' An' says I, 'Laws, you

didn't think o' sech a thing as my sleepin' in dat 'ar' _bed_,

did you? I never heerd o' sech a thing in my life.'

"Well, ye see, honey, I stayed an' lived with 'em. An' now jes'

look here: instead o' keepin' my promise an' bein' good, as I

told the Lord I would, jest as soon as everything got a-goin'

easy, _I forgot all about God_.

"Pretty well don't need no help; an' I gin' up prayin'. I lived

there two or three years, an' then the slaves in New York were

all set free, an' ole massa came to our house to make a visit,

an' he asked me ef I didn't want to go back an' see the folks on

the ole place. An' I told him I did. So he said, ef I'd jes' git

into the wagon with him, he'd carry me over. Well, jest as I was

goin' out to git into the wagon, _I met God!_ an' says I, 'O God,

I didn't know as you was so great!' An' I turned right round an'

come into the house, an' set down in my room; for 't was God all

around me. I could feel it burnin', burnin', burnin' all around

me, an' goin' through me; an' I saw I was so wicked, it seemed as

ef it would burn me up. An' I said, 'O somebody, somebody, stand

between God an' me! for it burns me!' Then, honey, when I said

so, I felt as it were somethin' like an _amberill_ [umbrella]

that came between me an' the light, an' I felt it was

_somebody_,--somebody that stood between me an' God; an' it felt

cool, like a shade; an' says I, 'Who's this that stands between

me an' God? Is it old Cato?' He was a pious old preacher; but

then I seemed to see Cato in the light, an' he was all polluted

an' vile, like me; an' I said, 'Is it old Sally?' an' then I saw

her, an' she seemed jes' so. An' then says I, '_Who_ is this?'

An' then, honey, for a while it was like the sun shinin' in a

pail o' water, when it moves up an' down; for I begun to feel 't

was somebody that loved me; an' I tried to know him. An' I said,

'I know you! I know you! I know you!'--an' then I said, 'I don't

know you! I don't know you! I don't know you!' An' when I said,

'I know you, I know you,' the light came; an' when I said, 'I

don't know you, I don't know you,' it went, jes' like the sun in

a pail o' water. An' finally somethin' spoke out in me an' said,

'_This is Jesus!_' An' I spoke out with all my might, an' says I,

'_This is Jesus!_ Glory be to God!' An' then the whole world grew

bright, an' the trees they waved an' waved in glory, an' every

little bit o' stone on the ground shone like glass; an' I shouted

an' said, 'Praise, praise, praise to the Lord!' An' I begun to

feel sech a love in my soul as I never felt before,--love to all

creatures. An' then, all of a sudden, it stopped, an' I said,

'Dar's de white folks, that have abused you an' beat you an'

abused your people,--think o' them!' But then there came another

rush of love through my soul, an' I cried out loud,-'Lord, Lord,

I can love _even de white folks_!'

"Honey, I jes' walked round an' round in a dream. Jesus loved me!

I knowed it,--I felt it. Jesus was my Jesus. Jesus would love me

always. I didn't dare tell nobody; 'twas a great secret.

Everything had been got away from me that I ever had; an' I

thought that ef I let white folks know about this, maybe they'd

get _Him_ away,--so I said, 'I'll keep this close. I won't let

any one know.'"

"But, Sojourner, had you never been told about Jesus Christ?"

"No, honey. I hadn't heerd no preachin',--been to no meetin'.

Nobody hadn't told me. I'd kind o' heerd of Jesus, but thought he

was like Gineral Lafayette, or some o' them. But one night there

was a Methodist meetin' somewhere in our parts, an' I went; an'

they got up an' begun for to tell der 'speriences; an' de fust

one begun to speak. I started, 'cause he told about Jesus. 'Why,'

says I to myself, 'dat man's found him too!' An' another got up

an' spoke, an' I said, 'He's found him, too!' An' finally I said,

'Why, they all know him!' I was so happy! An' then they sung this

hymn": (Here Sojourner sang, in a strange, cracked voice, but

evidently with all her soul and might, mispronouncing the

English, but seeming to derive as much elevation and comfort from

bad English as from good):--

"There is a holy city,

A world of light above,

Above the stairs and regions,[45]

Built by the God of love."

[Footnote 45: Starry regions.]

* * * * *

"Well, den ye see, after a while I thought I'd go back an' see de

folks on de ole place. Well, you know, de law had passed dat de

culled folks was all free; an' my old missis, she had a daughter

married about dis time who went to live in Alabama,--an' what did

she do but give her my son, a boy about de age of dis yer, for

her to take down to Alabama? When I got back to de ole place,

they told me about it, an' I went right up to see ole missis, an'

says I,--

"'Missis, have you been an' sent my son away down to Alabama?'

"'Yes, I have,' says she; 'he's gone to live with your young

missis.'

"'O Missis,' says I, 'how could you do it?'

"'Poh!' says she, 'what a fuss you make about a little nigger.

Got more of 'em now than you know what to do with.'

"I tell you, I stretched up. I felt as tall as the world!

"'Missis, says I, '_I'll have my son back agin!_'

"She laughed.

"'_You_ will, you nigger? How you goin' to do it? You ha'n't got

no money.'

"'No, Missis,--but _God_ has,--an' you'll see He'll help

me!'--an' I turned round an' went out.

"O, but I _was_ angry to have her speak to me so haughty an' so

scornful, as ef my chile wasn't worth anything. I said to God, 'O

Lord, render unto her double! It was a dreadful prayer, an' I

didn't know how true it would come.

"Well, I didn't rightly know which way to turn; but I went to the

Lord, an' I said to Him, 'O Lord, ef I was as rich as you be, an'

you was as poor as I be, I'd help you,--you _know_ I would; and,

oh, do help me!' An' I felt sure then that He would.

"Well, I talked with people, an' they said I must git the case

before a grand jury. So I went into the town when they was

holdin' a court, to see ef I could find any grand jury. An' I

stood round the court-house, an' when they was a-comin' out, I

walked right up to the grandest-lookin' one I could see, an' says

I to him,--

"'Sir, be you a grand jury?'

"An' then he wanted to know why I asked, an' I told him all about

it; an' he asked me all sorts of questions, an' finally he says

to me,--

"'I think, ef you pay me ten dollars, that I'd agree to get your

son for you.' An' says he, pointin' to a house over the way, 'You

go 'long an' tell your story to the folks in that house, an' I

guess they'll give you the money.'

"Well, I went, an' I told them, an' they gave me twenty dollars;

an' then I thought to myself, 'Ef ten dollars will git him,

twenty dollars will git him _sartin_.' So I carried it to the man

all out, an' said,--

"'Take it all,--only be sure an' git him.'

"Well, finally they got the boy brought back; an' then they tried

to frighten him, an' to make him say that I wasn't his mammy, an'

that he didn't know me; but they couldn't make it out. They gave

him to me, an' I took him an' carried him home; an' when I came

to take off his clothes, there was his poor little back all

covered with scars an' hard lumps, where they flogged him.

"Well, you see, honey, I told you how I prayed the Lord to render

unto her double. Well, it came true; for I was up at ole missis'

house not long after, an' I heerd 'em readin' a letter to her how

her daughter's husband had murdered her,--how he'd thrown her

down an' stamped the life out of her, when he was in liquor; an'

my ole missis, she giv a screech, an' fell flat on the floor.

Then says I, 'O Lord, I didn't mean all that! You took me up too

quick.'

"Well, I went in an' tended that poor critter all night. She was

out of her mind,--a-cryin', an' callin' for her daughter; an' I

held her poor ole head on my arm, an' watched for her as ef she'd

been my babby. An' I watched by her, an' took care on her all

through her sickness after that, an' she died in my arms, poor

thing!"

In the spring of 1851, a Woman's Rights Convention was held in Akron,

Ohio. The newspapers had ridiculed such conventions, and they were

looked upon as legitimate subjects for ridicule. They had been

vilified and caricatured, but there was a desire through that section

of the country to hear what the women would have to say for

themselves, and the church in which the meeting was held was

consequently crowded. Sojourner Truth was there. Mrs. Gage was

president of the meeting. She said:--

"The leaders of the movement, tremblingly alive to every

appearance of evil that might spring up in their midst, were many

of them almost thrown into panics on the first day of the

meeting, by seeing a tall, gaunt black woman, in a gray dress and

uncouth sun-bonnet, march deliberately into the church and up the

aisle with an air of a queen, and take her seat on the pulpit

steps. A buzz of disapprobation was heard all over the house, and

such words as these fell upon listening ears: 'An Abolition

affair! Woman's Rights and Niggers!' 'We told you so!' 'Go it,

old darkey!'

"The second day the work waxed warm. Methodist, Baptist,

Episcopal, and Presbyterian, and Universalist ministers came in

to hear and discuss the resolutions brought forth. One claimed

superior rights and privileges for man because of superior

intellect; another, because of the manhood of Christ. If God had

desired the equality of woman, he would have given some token of

his will through the birth, life, and death of the Saviour.

Another gave a theological view of the sin of our first mother.

There were few women in those days who dared to speak in

meeting'; and the august teachers of the people, with long-winded

bombast, were seeming to get the better of us, while the boys in

the galleries and sneerers among the pews were enjoying hugely

the discomfiture, as they supposed, of the strong-minded. Some of

the tender-skinned friends were growing indignant and on the

point of losing dignity, and the atmosphere of the Convention

betokened a storm.

"Slowly from her seat in the corner rose Sojourner Truth, who

till now had hardly lifted her head.

"'Don't let her speak!' gasped a half-dozen in my ear. She moved

slowly and solemnly to the front, laid her old bonnet at her

feet, and turned her great piercing eyes upon me. There was a

hissing sound of disapprobation above and below. I rose and

announced 'Sojourner Truth,' and begged the audience to keep

silence a few moments. The tumult subsided at once, and every eye

was fixed on this almost Amazon form, which stood nearly six feet

high, head erect, and eye piercing the upper air like one in a

dream. At her first word there was a profound hush. She spoke in

deep tones, which, though not loud, reached every ear in the

house, and away through the throng at the doors and windows.

"'Well, chillen, whar dar's so much racket dar must be som'ing

out o' kilter. I tink dat 'twixt de niggas of de Souf and de

women of de Norf, all a talking about de rights, de white men

will be in a fix pretty soon.

"'But what's all dis here talking 'bout? Dat man ober dar say dat

woman needs to be helped into carriages, and lifted ober ditches,

and to hab de best place eberywhar. Nobody eber helps me into

carriages, or ober ditches or ober mud-puddles, or gives me any

best place.' Raising herself to her full height, and her voice to

a pitch like rolling thunder, she asked, 'And arn't I a woman?

Look at me. Look at my arm,' and she laid bare her right arm to

her shoulder, showing its tremendous muscular power. 'I have

ploughed, and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could

head me; and arn't I a woman? I have borne thirteen chillen, and

seen most of 'em sold off into slavery, and when I cried out with

a mother's grief, none but Jesus heard; and arn't I a woman? Den

dey talks about dis ting in de head. What dis dey call it?'

'Intellect,' whispered some one near her. 'Dat's it, honey.

What's dat got to do wid woman's rights or niggers' rights? If my

cup won't hold but a pint, and yours holds a quart, wouldn't you

be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?'

"She pointed her significant finger and sent a keen glance at the

minister who had made the argument. The cheering was long and

loud.

"'Den dat little man in black, dar, he say woman can't have as

much right as man, 'cause Christ wasn't a woman. _Whar did your

Christ come from?_'

"Rolling thunder could not have stilled that crowd as did those

deep and wonderful tones, as she stood there with outstretched

arm and eye of fire. Raising her voice she repeated, 'Whar did

your Christ come from? From God and a woman. Man had nothing to

do with him.'

"O what a rebuke she gave the little man! Turning again to

another objector, she took up the defence of Mother Eve. It was

pointed, and witty, and solemn, and eliciting at almost every

sentence deafening applause; and she ended by asserting that 'if

de fust woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world

upside down, all herself alone, all dese togeder,' and she

glanced her eye over us, 'ought to be able to turn it back again

and git it right side up again; and now dey is asking to, the men

better let 'em. Bleeged to you for hearin' me, and now old

Sojourner ha'n't got notin' more to say.'

"Amid roars of applause she turned to her corner, leaving more

than one of us with streaming eyes and hearts beating with

gratitude. She had taken us up in her great strong arms and

carried us over the slough of difficulty, turning the whole tide

in our favor. I have never in my life seen anything like the

magical influence that subdued the mobbish spirit of the day and

turned the jibes and sneers of an excited crowd into notes of

respect and admiration. Hundreds rushed up to shake hands with

the glorious old mother and bid her God speed."

The enlistment of negro troops began at Port Royal in the fall of

1862, and by midwinter the First South Carolina, commanded by Colonel

Higginson, had its ranks nearly full. There was strong prejudice in

the army against employing negroes. The New Jersey troops in the

department of the South were bitterly hostile. Colonel Stevenson, of

Massachusetts, a gallant officer, having imprudently given utterance

to his feelings upon the subject, was arrested by General Hunter,

which caused a great deal of excitement in the army, and which

attracted the attention of the country to the whole subject.

The day after the arrest of Colonel Stevenson, a scene occurred in the

cabin of the steamer Wyoming, plying between Beaufort and Hilton Head,

which is given as a historical note. The party consisted of several

ladies, one or two chaplains, fifteen or twenty officers, four

newspaper correspondents, and several civilians.

A young captain in the Tenth New Jersey opened the conversation.

"I wish," said he, "that every negro was compelled to take off his

hat to a white man. I consider him an inferior being."

"You differ from General Washington, who took off his hat and saluted

a negro," said one of the correspondents.

"General Washington could afford to do it," said the captain, a little

staggered.

"Are we to understand that in this age a captain cannot afford to

equal a negro in politeness?" was the provoking question of the

correspondent.

"Do you want to be buried with a nigger, and have your bones touch his

in the grave?"

"As to that I have no feeling whatever. I do not suppose that it will

make much difference to the bones of either party."

"Well, when I die I want twenty niggers packed all around me," shouted

the captain, excitedly, turning to the crowd to see the effect of his

sarcasm.

"I presume, sir, you can be accommodated if you can get the consent of

the twenty negroes."

The captain saw that he was losing his argument by losing his temper,

and in calmer tones said: "I want to see the negro kept in his proper

place. I am perfectly willing he should use the shovel, but it is an

outrage upon the white man,--an insult to have him carry a musket."

"I would just as soon see a negro shot as to get shot myself. I am

perfectly willing that all the negroes should help put down the

Rebellion," said the correspondent.

"I am not willing to have them act as soldiers. Put them in the

ditches, where they belong. They are an inferior race."

A second correspondent broke in. "Who are you, sir?" said he; "you who

condemn the government? You forget that you as a soldier have nothing

to say about the orders of the President or the laws of Congress. You

say that the negro is an inferior being; what do you say of Frederick

Douglass, who has raised himself from slavery to a high position? Your

straps were placed on your shoulders, not because you had done

anything to merit them, but because you had friends to intercede for

you,--using their political influence,--or because you had money, and

could purchase your commission. You hate the negro, and you want to

keep him in slavery, and you allow your prejudice to carry you to the

verge of disloyalty to the government which pays you for unworthily

wearing your shoulder-straps."

The captain and the entire company listened in silence while another

correspondent took up the question.

"Gentleman, you denounce the negro; you say that he is an inferior

being. You forget that we white men claim to stand on the highest

plane of civilization,--that we are of a race which for a thousand

years has been in the front rank,--that the negro has been bruised,

crushed, trodden down,--denied all knowledge, all right, everything;

that we have compelled him to labor for us, and we have eaten the

fruit of his labors. Can we expect him to be our equal in acquisition

of knowledge? Where is your sense of fair play? Are you afraid that

the negro will push you from your position? Are you afraid that if you

allow him to aid in putting down the Rebellion, that he too will

become a free man, and have aspirations like your own, and in time

express toward you the same _chivalric_ sentiments which you express

toward him? How much do you love your country if you thus make

conditions of loyalty?"

The captain made no reply. The whole company was silent. There were

smiles from the ladies. The captain went out upon the deck, evidently

regretting that the conversation had fallen upon so exciting a topic.

The First South Carolina Regiment of loyal blacks was in camp on

Smith's plantation, four miles out from Beaufort. We rode over a sandy

plain, through old cotton-fields, pine-barrens, and jungles, past a

dozen negro-huts, where the long tresses of moss waved mournfully in

the breeze. The men had gathered a boat-load of oysters, and were

having a feast,--old and young, gray-headed men, and curly-haired

children, were huddled round the pans, steaming and smoking over the

pitch-knot fires.

Smith's plantation is historic ground,--the place where the Huguenots

built a fort long before the Mayflower cast anchor in Cape Cod harbor.

The plantation was well known to the colored people before the war as

a place to be dreaded,--a place for hard work, unmerciful whippings,

with very little to eat. The house and the negro quarters were in a

delightful grove of live-oaks, whose evergreen leaves, wide-spreading

branches, thick foliage, and gnarled trunks, gave cooling shade. In

front of the house, leading down to the fort, is a magnolia walk.

Behind the house, in a circular basin,--a depression often found on

sandy plains,--was the garden, surrounded by a thick-set, fantastic

palmetto hedge. The great oak between the house and the garden, was

the whipping-post. One of the branches was smooth, as if a swing had

been slung there, and the bark had been worn by the rope swaying to

the merry chattering and light-hearted laughter of children. Not that,

however. There the offender of plantation law,--of a master's

caprice,--had paid the penalty of disobedience; there men, women, and

children, suspended by the thumbs, stripped of their clothing,

received the lash. Their moans, groans, cries, and prayers fell

unheeding on overseer, master, and mistress,--but heard and heeded

they were in heaven, and kept in remembrance. And the hour of

retribution had come, the time of deliverance was near.

What a choice spot for the punishment of the criminal! close to the

house,--where the master, the mistress, their sons and daughters, the

infant at the nurse's breast, could see the blood fly.

The plantation jail was in the loft of the granary, beneath a

pitch-pine roof, which, under the heat of a midsummer sun, was like an

oven. There was one little window in the gable for the admission of

air. There were iron rings and bolts in the beams and rafters, where

the slaves were chained.

The owner of the plantation was not unmindful of the religious wants

of his fellow-Christians. West of the house was the plantation chapel,

a whitewashed building of rough boards, twenty feet by thirty, with a

rude belfry, where hung the plantation bell, which on week-days was

rung at daybreak. Charmingly its music floated over the blue waters of

Beaufort Bay, mingling with the morning winds, swaying the magnolia

branches, calling the hands--men, women, and children--to their

unrequited tasks in the cotton-field. On Sunday it called them, with

silvery lips and melting sounds, to come and worship: not to study

God's Word, not to bow down with him who--by the "divine missionary

institution," as the Southern doctors of divinity called it, was their

master, ordained of God--could separate husband and wife, or toss in

a baby to boot, in a bargain; not to bow down with him, for he

worshipped in Beaufort, in the ancient church;--he was a chivalric son

of South Carolina, riding up in his coach, and leaving his four

hundred fellow-disciples to grope their way to heaven, directed by a

pious bondman, as best they might.

If one wish for a flood of reflections, he will be overwhelmed on such

a spot.

The First South Carolina was at drill beneath the oak, drilling as

skirmishers, advancing, retiring, rallying, deploying, loading and

firing, with precision. They had already been under fire in an

expedition up one of the Georgia rivers.

I had breakfasted with the captain of the steamer Darlington, which

was used as a transport on the occasion, who showed me the numerous

bullet-marks on the steamer.

"How did the negroes stand fire?" I asked. "They fought splendidly,

sir."

It was no longer an experiment whether they would make good soldiers.

They had demonstrated it by their courage and patriotism. The

antipathy which at the beginning was rampant quickly toned down. The

deportment of the colored soldiers under insult, their bravery in

battle, compelled respect from all who had doubted their heroism or

fidelity.

In the attack upon Jacksonville, which occurred on the 12th of March,

an old patriarch--too old to do any fighting--harangued the troops,

and told them that every one who should be killed in a cause so holy

would be pretty sure of stepping directly into heaven; but that if

they hung back and showed that they were cowards, there wasn't much

hope of eternal life for such! He was greatly venerated by the

soldiers, for he had been a preacher.

[Illustration: A bird's-nest Bank.]

CHAPTER XVI.

THE IRONCLADS IN ACTION.

[Sidenote: April, 1863.]

After vexatious delays, the ironclad fleet was ready for action. It

was deemed desirable to test their armor, before attacking Sumter, by

making a reconnoissance of Fort McAllister, on the Ogeechee.

It was late on the afternoon of March 1st, when the steamer George

Washington left Hilton Head for a trip to Ossabow Sound. The Passaic,

Montauk, Nahant, and Patapsco, ironclads of the Monitor pattern, were

already there. The Washington took the "inside" route up Wilmington

River and through the Rumley marshes. The gunboat Marblehead was

guarding the entrance to the river. It was past sunset, and the tide

was ebbing.

"You had better lie here till morning; there are indications that we

shall hear from those fellows up there," said the commander of the

Marblehead. Looking westward into the golden light of the departing

day, we could see the spires of Savannah, also nearer the Rebel

gunboats moving up and down the river.

The anchor dropped, the chain rattled through the hawsehole, the

lights were extinguished, the guns put in trim; the lookout took his

position; the sentinels passed to and fro, peering into the darkness;

a buoy was attached to the cable, that it might be slipped in an

instant; all ears listened to catch the sound of muffled oars or

plashing paddle-wheels, but there was no sound save the piping of the

curlew in the marshes and the surging of the tide along the reedy

shores. At three o'clock in the morning we were away from our

anchorage, steaming up Wilmington River. The moonlight lay in a golden

flood along the waters, revealing the distant outline of the Rebel

earthworks. How charming the trip! exhilarating, and sufficiently

exciting, under the expectation of falling in with a hostile gunboat,

to bring every nerve into action. It was sunrise when the Washington

emerged from the marshes and came to anchor among the ironclads. The

Montauk had just completed a glorious work,--the destruction of the

Nashville. We had heard the roar of her guns, and the quick,

ineffectual firing from Fort McAllister.

The Nashville, which began her piratical depredations by burning the

ship Harvey Birch, ran into Savannah, where she had been cooped up

several months. She had been waiting many weeks for an opportunity to

run out to sea again. On Saturday morning, the last day of February, a

dense fog hung over the marshes, the islands, and inlets of Ossabow.

The Montauk lay at the junction of the Great and Little Ogeechee

Rivers, when the fog lifted and the Nashville was discovered aground

above the fort.

The eyes of Captain Worden sparkled as he gave the command to prepare

for action. He had not forgotten his encounter with the Merrimack. The

Montauk moved up stream, came within range of the fort, which opened

from all its guns, but to which Captain Worden gave no heed. Taking a

position about three quarters of a mile from the Nashville and half a

mile from the fort, he opened with both guns upon the grounded

steamer, to which the Nashville replied with her hundred-pounder. The

third shell from the Montauk exploded inside the steamer, setting her

cotton on fire. The flames spread with great rapidity. Her crew fled

to the marshes, the magazine soon exploded, and the career of the

Nashville was ended.

At high tide on the morning of the 3d of March the Passaic, Patapsco,

and Nahant moved up the Ogeechee, and opened fire on the fort, to test

the working of their machinery. The fire was furious from the fort,

but slow and deliberate from the ironclads. Several mortar-schooners

threw shells in the direction of the fort. The monitors were obliged

to retire with the tide. They were struck repeatedly, but the balls

fell harmlessly against the iron plating. It was evident that at the

distance of three fourths of a mile, or a half-mile even, the

ironclads could withstand the heaviest guns, while on the other hand

the fire of the monitors must necessarily be very slow. The attack was

made, not with the expectation of reducing the fort, but to test the

monitors before the grand attack upon Fort Sumter.

The first attack on Sumter occurred on the 7th of April. The fort

stood out in bold relief, the bright noon-sun shining full upon its

southern face, fronting the shallow water towards Morris Island,

leaving in shadow its eastern wall toward Moultrie. The air was clear,

and we who were on shipboard just beyond the reach of the Rebel guns,

looking inland with our glasses, could see the city, the spires, the

roofs of the houses thronged with people. A three-masted ship lay at

the wharves, the Rebel rams were fired up, sail-boats were scudding

across the harbor, running down toward Sumter, looking seaward, then

hastening back again like little children, expectant and restless on

great occasions, eager for something to be done.

The attacking fleet was in the main ship-channel,--eight little black

specks but little larger than the buoys which tossed beside them, and

one black, oblong block, the New Ironsides, the flag-ship of the

fleet. It was difficult to comprehend that beneath the surface of the

sea there were men as secure from the waves as bugs in a bottle. It

was as strange and romantic as the stories which charmed the Arabian

chieftains in the days of Haroun Al Raschid.

The ironclads were about one third of a mile apart, in the following

order:--

Weehawken, Patapsco, Nantucket,

Passaic, Ironsides, Nahant,

Montauk, Catskill, Keokuk.

The Keokuk was built by a gentleman who had full faith in her

invulnerability. She was to be tested under fire from the Rebel

batteries before accepted by the government. She had sloping sides,

two turrets, and was built for a ram. The opinions generally

entertained were that she would prove a failure.

General Hunter courteously assigned the steamer Nantucket to the

gentlemen connected with the press, giving them complete control of

the steamer, to go where they pleased, knowing that there was an

intense desire not only in the North, but throughout the world, to

know the result of the first contest between ironclads and

fortifications. The Nantucket was a small side-wheel steamer of light

draft, and we were able to run in and out over the bar at will. Just

before the signal was given for the advance we ran alongside the

flag-ship. The crew were hard at work hoisting shot and shells from

the hold to the deck. The upper deck was bedded with sand-bags, the

pilot-house wrapped with cable. All the light hamper was taken down

and stowed away. The iron plating was slushed with grease. Rebel

soldiers were marching across Morris Island, within easy range. A

shell would have sent them in haste behind the sand-hills; but heavier

work was at hand, and they were harmless just then.

It was past one o'clock when the signal for sailing was displayed from

the flag-ship, and the Weehawken, with a raft at her prow, intended to

remove torpedoes, answered the signal, raised her anchor, and went

steadily in with the tide, followed by the others, which maintained

their respective positions, distant from each other about one third or

a half-mile. In this battle of ironclads there are no clouds of

canvas, no beautiful models of marine architecture, none of the

stateliness and majesty which have marked hundreds of great naval

engagements. There are no human beings in sight,--no propelling power

is visible. There are simply eight black specks and one oblong block

gliding along the water, like so many bugs.

But Sumter has discovered them, and discharges in quick succession

nine signal guns, to announce to all Rebeldom that the attack is to be

made. Morris Island is mysteriously silent as the Weehawken advances,

although she is within range. Past Fort Wagner, straight on toward

Moultrie the Weehawken moves. The silence is prolonged. It is almost

painful,--the calm before the storm, the hushed stillness before the

burst of the tornado!

There comes a single puff of smoke from Moultrie,--one deep

reverberation. The silence is broken,--the long months of waiting are

over. The shot flies across the water, skipping from wave to wave,

tossing up fountains, hopping over the deck of the Weehawken, and

rolling along the surface with a diminishing ricochet, sinking at last

close upon the Morris Island beach. Fort Wagner continues the story,

sending a shot at the Weehawken, which also trips lightly over the

deck, and tosses up a water-spout far toward Moultrie. The Weehawken,

unmindful of this play, opens its ports, and sends a fifteen-inch

solid shot toward Sumter, which, like those that have been hurled

toward her, takes a half-dozen steps, making for a moment its

footprints on the water, and crashes against the southwest face of the

fort, followed a moment later by its eleven-inch companion. The vessel

is for a moment enveloped in the smoke of its guns. Bravely done!

There comes an answer. Moultrie, with the tremendous batteries on

either side by the hotel and east of it, and toward the inner harbor,

bursts in an instant into sheets of flame and clouds of sulphurous

smoke. There is one long roll of thunder, peal on peal; deep, heavy

reverberations and sharp concussions, rattling the windows of our

steamers, and striking us at the heart like hammer strokes.

The ocean boils! Columns of spray are tossed high in air, as if a

hundred submarine fountains were let instantly on, or a school of

whales were trying which could spout highest. There is a screaming in

the air, a buzzing and humming never before so loud.

At five minutes before three Moultrie began the fire. Ten minutes have

passed. The thunder has rolled incessantly from Sullivan's Island.

Thus far Sumter has been silent, but now it is enveloped with a cloud.

A moment it is hid from view--first a line of light along its parapet,

and thick folds of smoke unrolling like fleeces of wool. Other flashes

burst from the casemates, and the clouds creep down the wall to the

water, then slowly float away to mingle with that rising from the

furnaces in the sand along the shore of Sullivan's Island. Then comes

a calm,--a momentary cessation. The Rebel gunners wait for the breeze

to clear away the cloud, that they may obtain a view of the monitor,

to see if it have not been punched into a sieve, and if it be not

already disappearing beneath the waves. But the Weehawken is there,

moving straight on up the channel, turning now toward Moultrie. To her

it has been only a handful of peas or pebbles. Some have rattled

against her turret, some upon her deck, some against her sides.

Instead of going to the bottom, she revolves her turret, and fire two

shots at Moultrie, moving on the while to gain the south eastern wall

of Sumter.

Again the forts and batteries begin, joined now by Cummings Point and

long ranges from Fort Johnson. All around the Weehawken the shot

flash, plunge, hop, skip, falling like the rain-drops of a summer

shower. Unharmed, undaunted, she moves straight on, feeling her way,

moving slowly, with grappling-irons dragging from the raft in front to

catch up torpedoes. It is for the Weehawken to clear the channel, and

make smooth sailing for the remainder of the fleet.

To get the position of the Weehawken at this moment, draw a line from

Cummings Point to Moultrie, and stick a pin on the line a little

nearer to Moultrie than to Morris Island. It is about one half a mile

from Moultrie, about one third of a mile from Sumter.

There she is,--the target of probably two hundred and fifty or three

hundred guns, of the heaviest calibre, at close range, rifled cannon

throwing forged bolts and steel-pointed shot, turned and polished to a

hair in the lathes of English workshops,--advancing still, undergoing

her first ordeal, a trial unparalleled in history!

For fifteen minutes she meets the ordeal alone, but the channel found

to be clear, the Passaic, the Montauk, and Patapsco follow, closing up

the line, each coming in range and delivering their fire upon Sumter.

At twenty minutes past three the four monitors composing the right

wing of the fleet are all engaged, each pressing on to reach the

northeastern face of the fort, where the wall is weakest, each

receiving as they arrive at particular points a terrible fire,

seemingly from all points of the compass,--points selected by trial

and practice indicated by buoys. They pass the destructive latitudes

unharmed. Seventy guns a minute are counted, followed by moments of

calm and scattering shots, but only to break out again in a prolonged

roar of thunder. They press on, making nearer and nearer to Sumter,

narrowing the distance to one thousand yards, eight hundred, six,

five, four hundred yards, and send their fifteen-inch shot crashing

against the fort, with deliberate, effective fire.

At first the fort and the batteries and Moultrie seem to redouble

their efforts in increasing the fire, but after an hour there is a

perceptible diminution of the discharges from the fort. After each

shot from the ironclads, clouds of dust can be discerned rising above

the fort and mingling with the smoke. Steadying my glass in the lulls

of the strife, watching where the southwest breeze whiffs away the

smoke, I can see increasing pock-marks and discolorations upon the

walls, as if there had been a sudden breaking out of cutaneous

disease.

The flag-ship, drawing seventeen feet of water, was obliged to move

cautiously, feeling her way up the channel. Just as she came within

range of Moultrie her keel touched bottom on the east side of the

channel; fearing that she would run aground the anchor was let go.

Finding the vessel was clear, the Admiral again moved on, signalling

the left wing to press forward to the aid of the four already engaged.

The Ironsides kept the main channel, which brought her within about

one thousand yards of Moultrie and Sumter. She fired four guns at

Moultrie, and received in return a heavy fire. Again she touched

bottom, and then turned her bow across the channel toward Sumter,

firing two guns at Cummings Point. After this weak and ineffectual

effort, the tide rapidly ebbing the while, she again got clear, but

gave up the attempt to advance. The Catskill, Nantucket, Nahant, and

Keokuk pressed up with all possible speed to aid the four which were

receiving a tremendous hammering.

See them sweep past the convergent points and radial lines! See the

bubbling of the water,--the straight columns thrown up in the

sunlight,--the flashes, the furrows along the waves, as if a plough

driven with lightning speed were turning up the water! They are all

close up to Sumter, within four or five hundred yards. Behind them are

Moultrie and Fort Ripley, and Fort Beauregard, flashing, smoking,

bellowing; in front is Sumter, and in the background are Fort Wagner

and Cummings Point. Across the shallow waters is Fort Johnson; still

farther off to the right is Castle Pinckney, too far away to do

damage. From all sides the balls fall around the fleet. Calmly and

deliberately the fire is returned,--with a deliberation which must

have commanded the admiration of the enemy.

The Keokuk presented a fair mark with her sloping sides and double

turrets. Her commander, Captain Rhind, although not having entire

confidence in her invulnerability, was determined to come to close

quarters. She was not to be outdone by the ironclads who had led the

advance. Swifter than they, drawing less water, she made haste to get

up with the Weehawken. The guns which had been trained upon the others

were brought to bear upon her. Where she sailed the fire was fiercest.

Her plating was but pine wood to the steel projectiles, flying with

almost the swiftness of a minnie bullet. Shot which glanced harmlessly

from the others penetrated her angled sides. Her after turret was

pierced in a twinkling, and a two-hundred pound projectile dropped

inside. A heavy shot crashed into the surgeon's dispensary, and mixed

emetics, cathartics, pills and powders not according to prescriptions.

The enemy noticed the effect of his shot and increased his fire.

Captain Rhind was not easily daunted. He opened his forward turret and

gave three shots in return for the three or four hundred rained around

him. The sea with every passing wave swept through the shot-holes, and

he was forced to retire or go to the bottom with all on board.

The tide was ebbing fast, and the signal for retiring was displayed by

the flag-ship. It was raised, seemingly, at an inopportune moment, for

the fire of the fort had sensibly diminished, while that from the

ironclads was steady and true. It was past five o'clock, almost

sunset, when the fleet came back. Never had there been such a

hammering of iron and smashing of masonry as during two and a half

hours of that afternoon. The gunboat Bibb, the Ben Deford, and the

Nantasket had taken position in the North Channel at a respectful

distance off Sullivan's Island. A mile or two east of Moultrie is

Beach Inlet, where a powerful battery had been erected. While intently

gazing on the contest, the correspondents and all hands on the other

steamers were startled by hearing the whiff and whiz of a rifle

projectile, which came diagonally across the Nantasket, across the bow

of the Ben Deford, falling into the sea about one hundred yards ahead.

There was a laughable cuddling down and scampering for the

coal-bunkers, the engine-room, and between decks. There was an

immediate hauling in of cables and motion of paddle-wheels. A second

shot in admirable line fell short. We being at anchor and within

range, the Rebel gunner had made nice calculations. He had already

fired a half-dozen shots, which had fallen far ahead unnoticed.

Cummings Point also tried to reach us with shells, but failed. One of

the correspondents claimed that the press completely silenced a

battery--by getting out of the way!

Steaming into the retiring fleet we ran alongside the Keokuk. A glance

at her sides showed how terrible the fire had been. Her smoke-stack,

turrets, sides,--all were scarred, gashed, pierced through and

through. An inspection revealed ninety-four short-marks. There were

none below the water-line, but each wave swept through the holes on

the sides. Her pumps were going and she was kept free. Only three of

her officers and crew were wounded, although she had been so badly

perforated.

"All right, nobody hurt, ready for them again," was the hearty

response of Captain George Rodgers, of the Catskill, as I stepped upon

the slushed deck of that vessel and grasped the hand of her wide-awake

commander. The Catskill had received about thirty shots. One

two-hundred-pounder, thrown evidently from a barbette gun, had fallen

with tremendous force upon the deck, bending, but not breaking or

penetrating the iron. On the sides, on the turret, and on the

pilot-house were indentations like saucers, but there was no sign of

serious damage.

The Nahant came down to her anchorage with a gashed smoke-stack. Going

on board, we found that eleven of her officers and crew had received

contusions from the flying of bolt-heads in the turret. One shot had

jammed the lower ridge of her turret, interfering with its revolution.

She had been struck forty times, but--aside from the loss of a few

bolt-heads, a diminished draft to her chimney, and the slight jam upon

the turret--her armor was intact.

The other monitors had each a few bolts started. Four gun-carriages

needed repairs,--injured not by the enemy's shot, but by their own

recoil. One shot had ripped up the plating of the Patapsco and pierced

the wood-work beneath. This was the only shot, out of the twenty-five

hundred or three thousand supposed to have been fired from the forts

which penetrated the monitors!

The Weehawken had received three heavy shot upon her side, the

indentations close together. The plates were badly bent, but the shot

had fallen as harmlessly as pebbles upon the side of a barn.

The Ironsides had received thirty balls, all of which had been turned

by her armor.

One hundred and fifty-three shots were fired by the fleet, against

twenty-five hundred or three thousand by the Rebels. The monitors were

struck in the aggregate about three hundred and fifty times.

About six thousand pounds of iron were hurled at Fort Sumter during

the short time the fleet was engaged, and probably five or six times

that amount of metal, or thirty thousand pounds, was thrown at the

fleet. The casualties on board the fleet were,--none killed; one

mortally, one seriously, and thirteen slightly wounded.

Captain Ammen, commanding the Patapsco, was confident that the last

shots which he fired passed through the wall of the fort. He and other

commanders obeyed the signal for retiring with great reluctance. They

saw that the fire of the fort was growing weaker,--that the wall was

crumbling. It is now known that the Rebel commander, General Ripley,

was on the point of evacuating the fort when the signal was made for

the fleet to withdraw. The wall was badly shattered, and a few more

shots would have made it a complete ruin.

The lower casemates were soon after filled with sand-bags, the guns

having been removed. The walls were buttressed with palmetto logs, and

the fort lost nearly all of its original features, but was made

stronger than ever.

The Keokuk sunk in the morning on the bar. The sea was rough, and the

water poured through the shot-holes with every wave, so that it was

found impossible to keep her afloat.

Admiral Dupont decided not to renew the attack, which caused a good

deal of murmuring among the soldiers in the fleet. The ironclads

returned to Hilton Head for repairs, the expedition was abandoned, and

Sumter was left to float its flag in defiance of Federal authority.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE INVASION OF PENNSYLVANIA.

[Sidenote: June, 1863.]

The second invasion of the North was planned immediately after the

battle of Chancellorsville. The movement of General Lee was upon a

great circle,--down the valley of the Shenandoah, crossing the Potomac

at Williamsport with his infantry and artillery, while General Stuart,

with the main body of Rebel cavalry, kept east of the Blue Ridge to

conceal the advance of the infantry.

General Hooker, at Fredericksburg, the first week in June, received

positive information that Lee was breaking up his camp, and that some

of his divisions were moving towards Culpepper. The dust-clouds which

rose above the tree-tops indicated that the Rebel army was in motion.

The Army of the Potomac immediately broke up its camp and moved to

Catlett's Station, on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, where

intelligence was received that Stuart had massed the Rebel cavalry at

Brandy Station for a raid in Pennsylvania.

General Pleasanton, commanding the cavalry, was sent with his entire

force to look into the matter. He fell upon Stuart on the 9th of June,

on the broad, open plains along the Rappahannock. A desperate battle

ensued,--probably it was the greatest cavalry battle of the war,--in

which Stuart was driven back upon the Rebel infantry, which was

hurried up from Culpepper to his support. The object of the attack was

accomplished,--Stuart's raid was postponed and Lee's movement

unmasked. On the same day, Lee's advanced divisions reached

Winchester, attacked General Milroy, captured the town, the cannon in

the fortifications, and moved on to the Potomac.

[Illustration: Cavalry charge.]

Hastening to Pennsylvania, I became an observer of the great events

which followed. The people of the Keystone State in 1862 rushed to

arms when Lee crossed the Potomac, but in 1863 they were strangely

apathetic,--intent upon conveying their property to a place of

security, instead of defending their homes. In '62 the cry was,

"Drive the enemy from our soil!" in '63, "Where shall we hide our

goods?"

Harrisburg was a Bedlam when I entered it on the 15th of June.

The railroad stations were crowded with an excited people,--men,

women, and children,--with trunks, boxes, bundles; packages tied up in

bed-blankets and quilts; mountains of baggage,--tumbling it into the

cars, rushing here and there in a frantic manner; shouting, screaming,

as if the Rebels were about to dash into the town and lay it in ashes.

The railroad authorities were removing their cars and engines. The

merchants were packing up their goods; housewives were secreting their

silver; everywhere there was a hurly-burly. The excitement was

increased when a train of army wagons came rumbling over the long

bridge across the Susquehannah, accompanied by a squadron of cavalry.

It was Milroy's train, which had been ordered to make its way into

Pennsylvania.

"The Rebels will be here to-morrow or next day," said the teamsters.

At the State-House, men in their shirt-sleeves were packing papers

into boxes. Every team, every horse and mule and handcart in the town

were employed. There was a steady stream of teams thundering across

the bridge; farmers from the Cumberland valley, with their household

furniture piled upon the great wagons peculiar to the locality;

bedding, tables, chairs, their wives and children perched on the top;

kettles and pails dangling beneath; boys driving cattle and horses,

excited, worried, fearing they knew not what. The scene was painful,

yet ludicrous.

General Couch was in command at Harrisburg. He had but a few troops.

He erected fortifications across the river, planted what few cannon he

had, and made preparations to defend the place.

General Lee was greatly in need of horses, and his cavalrymen, under

General Jenkins, ravaged the Cumberland Valley. A portion visited

Chambersburg; another party, Mercersburg; another, Gettysburg, before

any infantry entered the State.

Ewell's corps of Lee's army crossed the Potomac, a division at

Williamsport, and another at Shepherdstown, on the 22d of June, and

came together at Hagerstown. The main body of Lee's army was at

Winchester. Stuart had moved along the eastern base of the Blue Ridge,

and had come in contact with a portion of Pleasanton's cavalry at

Aldie and Middleburg. Hooker had swung the army up to Fairfax and

Centreville, moving on an inner circle, with Washington for a pivot.

Visiting Baltimore, where General Schenck was in command, I found the

Marylanders much more alive to the exigencies of the hour than the

Pennsylvanians. Instead of hurrying northward with their household

furniture, they were hard at work building fortifications and

barricading the streets. Hogsheads of tobacco, barrels of pork, old

carts, wagons, and lumber were piled across the streets, and patriotic

citizens stood, musket in hand, prepared to pick off any Rebel troops.

Colored men were impressed to construct fortifications. They were shy

at first, fearing it was a trap to get them into slavery, but when

they found they were to defend the city, they gave enthusiastic

demonstrations of joy. They went to their work singing _their

Marseillaise_,

"John Brown's body," &c.

While writing in the Eutaw House, I heard the song sung by a thousand

voices, accompanied by the steady tramp, tramp, tramp of the men

marching down the street, cheering General Schenck as they passed his

quarters.

How rapid the revolution! Twenty-six months before, Massachusetts

troops had fought their way through the city, now the colored men were

singing of John Brown amid the cheers of the people!

General Hooker waited in front of Washington till he was certain of

Lee's intentions, and then by a rapid march pushed on to Frederick.

Lee's entire army was across the Potomac. Ewell was at York, enriching

himself by reprisals, stealings, and confiscations. General Hooker

asked that the troops at Harper's Ferry might be placed under his

command, that he might wield the entire available force and crush Lee;

this was refused, whereupon he informed the War Department that,

unless this condition were complied with, he wished to be relieved of

the command of the army. The matter was laid before the President and

his request was granted. General Meade was placed in command; and what

was denied to General Hooker was substantially granted to General

Meade,--that he was to use his best judgment in holding or evacuating

Harper's Ferry! General Halleck was military adviser to the President,

and the question between him and Hooker was whether Halleck, sitting

in his chair at Washington, or Hooker at the head of the army, should

fight General Lee. The march of Hooker from Fairfax to Frederick was

one of the most rapid of the war. The Eleventh Corps marched

fifty-four miles in two days,--a striking contrast to the movement in

September, 1862, when the army made but five miles a day.

It was a dismal day at Frederick when the news was promulgated that

General Hooker was relieved of the command. Notwithstanding the result

at Chancellorsville, the soldiers had a good degree of confidence in

him. General Meade was unknown except to his own corps. He entered the

war as brigadier in the Pennsylvania Reserves. He commanded a division

at Antietam and at Fredericksburg, and the Fifth Corps at

Chancellorsville.

General Meade cared but little for the pomp and parade of war. His own

soldiers respected him because he was always prepared to endure

hardships. They saw a tall, slim, gray-bearded man, wearing a slouch

hat, a plain blue blouse, with his pantaloons tucked into his boots.

He was plain of speech, and familiar in conversation. He enjoyed in a

high degree, especially after the battle of Fredericksburg, the

confidence of the President.

I saw him soon after he was informed that the army was under his

command. There was no elation, but on the contrary he seemed weighed

down with a sense of the responsibility resting on him. It was in the

hotel at Frederick. He stood silent and thoughtful by himself. Few of

all the noisy crowd around knew of the change that had taken place.

The correspondents of the press knew it long before the corps

commanders were informed of the fact. No change was made in the

machinery of the army, and there was but a few hours' delay in its

movement.

General Hooker bade farewell to the principal officers of the army on

the afternoon of the 28th. They were drawn up in line. He shook hands

with each officer, laboring in vain to stifle his emotion. The tears

rolled down his cheeks. The officers were deeply affected. He said

that he had hoped to lead them to victory, but the power above him had

ordered otherwise. He spoke in high terms of General Meade. He

believed that they would defeat the enemy under his leadership.

While writing out the events of the day in the parlor of a private

house during the evening, I heard the comments of several officers

upon the change which had taken place.

"Well, I think it is too bad to have him removed just now," said a

captain.

"I wonder if we shall have McClellan back?" queried a lieutenant.

"Well, gentlemen, I don't know about Hooker as a commander in the

field, but I do know the Army of the Potomac was never so well fed and

clothed as it has been since Joe Hooker took command."

"That is so," said several.

After a short silence, another officer took up the conversation and

said,--

"Yes, the army was in bad condition when he took command of it, and

bad off every way; but it never was in better condition than it is

to-day, and the men begin to like him."

The army was too patriotic to express any dissatisfaction, and in a

few days the event was wholly forgotten.

It was evident that a collision of the two armies must take place

before many days, and their positions, and the lines of movement

indicated that it must be near Gettysburg, which is the county seat of

Adams, Pennsylvania, nearly forty miles a little north of east from

Frederick, on the head-waters of the Monocacy. Rock Creek, which in

spring-time leaps over huge granite boulders, runs south, a mile east

of the town, and is the main stem of the Monocacy. Being a county

seat, it is also a grand centre for that section of the State,

contains three thousand inhabitants, and has a pleasant location,

surrounded with scenery of quiet beauty, hills, valleys, the dark

outline and verdure-clad sides of the Blue Ridge in the west, and the

billowy Catoctin range on the south. Roads radiate in all directions.

It was a central point, admitting of a quick concentration of forces.

The army commanded by General Meade consisted of seven corps.

1. Major-General Reynolds; 2. Major-General Hancock; 3. Major-General

Sickles; 5. Major-General Sykes; 6. Major-General Sedgwick; 11.

Major-General Howard; 12. Major-General Slocum.

As Ewell was at York, and as Lee was advancing in that direction, it

was necessary to take a wide sweep of country in the march. All Sunday

the army was passing through Frederick. It was a strange sight. The

churches were open, and some of the officers and soldiers attended

service,--a precious privilege to those who before entering the army

were engaged in Sabbath schools. The stores also were open, and the

town was cleaned of goods,--boots, shoes, needles, pins, tobacco,

pipes, paper, pencils, and other trifles which add to a soldier's

comfort.

[Illustration: Advance to Gettysburg.]

Cavalry, infantry, and artillery were pouring through the town, the

bands playing, and the soldiers singing their liveliest songs. The

First Corps moved up the Emmettsburg road, and formed the left of the

line; the Eleventh Corps marched up a parallel road a little farther

east, through Griegerstown. The Third and Twelfth Corps moved on

parallel roads leading to Taneytown. The Second and Fifth moved still

farther east, through Liberty and Uniontown, while the Sixth, with

Gregg's division of cavalry, went to Westminster, forming the right of

the line.

The lines of march were like the sticks of a fan, Frederick being the

point of divergence.

On this same Sunday afternoon Lee was at Chambersburg, directing

Ewell, who was at York, to move to Gettysburg. A. P. Hill was moving

east from Chambersburg towards the same point, while Longstreet's, the

last corps to cross the Potomac, was moving through Waynesboro' and

Fairfield, marching northeast towards the same point.

It was a glorious spectacle, that movement of the army north from

Frederick. I left the town accompanying the Second and Fifth Corps.

Long lines of men and innumerable wagons were visible in every

direction. The people of Maryland welcomed the soldiers hospitably.

When the Fifth Corps passed through the town of Liberty, a farmer rode

into the village, mounted on his farm-wagon. His load was covered by

white table-cloths.

"What have ye got to sell, old fellow? Bread, eh?" said a soldier,

raising a corner of the cloth, and revealing loaves of sweet soft

plain bread, of the finest wheat, with several bushels of

ginger-cakes.

"What do you ask for a loaf?"

"I haven't any to sell," said the farmer.

"Haven't any to sell? What are ye here for?"

The farmer made no reply.

"See here, old fellow, won't ye sell me a hunk of your gingerbread?"

said the soldier, producing an old wallet.

"No."

"Well, you are a mean old cuss. It would be serving you right to tip

you out of your old bread-cart. Here we are marching all night and all

day to protect your property, and fight the Rebs. We haven't had any

breakfast, and may not have any dinner. You are a set of mean cusses

round here, I reckon," said the soldier.

A crowd of soldiers had gathered, and others expressed their

indignation. The old farmer stood up on his wagon-seat, took off the

table-cloths, and replied,--

"I didn't bring my bread here to sell. My wife and daughters set up

all night to bake it for you, and you are welcome to all I've got, and

wish I had ten times as much. Help your selves, boys."

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" "Bully for you!" "You're a brick!" "Three

cheers for the old man!" "Three more for the old woman!" "Three more

for the girls!"

They threw up their caps, and fairly danced with joy. The bread and

cakes were gone in a twinkling.

"See here, my friend, I take back all the hard words I said about

you," said the soldier, shaking hands with the farmer, who sat on his

wagon overcome with emotion.

On Tuesday evening, General Reynolds, who was at Emmettsburg, sent

word to General Meade that the Rebels were evidently approaching

Gettysburg. At the same time, the Rebel General Stuart, with his

cavalry, appeared at Westminster. He had tarried east of the Blue

Ridge till Lee was across the Potomac,--till Meade had started from

Frederick,--then crossing the Potomac at Edwards's Ferry, he pushed

directly northeast of the Monocacy, east of Meade's army, through

Westminster, where he had a slight skirmish with some of the Union

cavalry, moved up the pike to Littlestown and Hanover and joined Lee.

Riding to Westminster I overtook General Gregg's division of cavalry,

and on Wednesday moved forward with it to Hanover Junction, which is

thirty miles east of Gettysburg. There, while our horses were eating

their corn at noon, I heard the distant cannonade, the opening of the

great battle.

Striking directly across the country, I rejoined the Fifth Corps at

Hanover. There were dead horses and dead soldiers in the streets lying

where they fell. The wounded had been gathered into a school-house,

and the warm-hearted women of the place were ministering to their

comfort. It was evening. The bivouac fires of the Fifth Corps were

gleaming in the meadows west of the town, and the worn and weary

soldiers were asleep, catching a few hours of repose before moving on

to the place where they were to lay down their lives for their

country.

It was past eight o'clock on Thursday morning, July 2d, before we

reached the field. The Fifth Corps, turning off from the Hanover road,

east of Rock Creek, passed over to the Baltimore pike, crossed Rock

Creek, filed through the field on the left hand and moved towards

Little Round-top, or Weed's Hill as it is now called.

Riding directly up the pike towards the cemetery, I saw the Twelfth

Corps on my right, in the thick woods crowning Culp's Hill. Beyond,

north of the pike, was the First Corps. Ammunition wagons were going

up, and the artillerymen were filling their limber chests. Pioneers

were cutting down the trees.

Reaching the top of the hill in front of the cemetery gate the

battle-field was in view. To understand a battle, the movements of the

opposing forces, and what they attempt to accomplish, it is necessary

first to comprehend the ground, its features, the hills, hollows,

woods, ravines, ledges, roads,--how they are related. A rocky hill is

frequently a fortress of itself. Rail fences and stone walls are of

value, and a ravine may be equivalent to ten thousand men.

Tying my horse and ascending the stairs to the top of the gateway

building, I could look directly down upon the town. The houses were

not forty rods distant. Northeast, three fourths of a mile, was Culp's

Hill.

On the northern side of the Baltimore pike were newly mown fields, the

grass springing fresh and green since the mower had swept over it. In

those fields were batteries with breastworks thrown up by Howard on

Wednesday night,--light affairs, not intended to resist cannon-shot,

but to protect the cannoneers from sharpshooters. Howard's lines of

infantry were behind stone-walls. The cannoneers were lying beside

their pieces,--sleeping perhaps, but at any rate keeping close, for,

occasionally, a bullet came singing past them. Looking north over the

fields, a mile or two, we saw a beautiful farming country,--fields of

ripened grain,--russet mingled with the green in the landscape.

Conspicuous among the buildings is the almshouse, with its brick

walls, great barn, and numerous out-buildings, on the Harrisburg road.

Beyond are the houses of David and John Blocher,--John Blocher's being

at the junction of the Carlisle and Newville roads. Looking over the

town, the buildings of Pennsylvania College are in full view, between

the road leading northwest to Mummasburg, and the unfinished track of

a railroad running west through a deep excavation a half-mile from the

college. The Chambersburg turnpike runs parallel to the railroad.

South of this is the Lutheran Theological Seminary, beautifully

situated, in front of a shady grove of oaks. West and southwest we

look upon wheat, clover, and corn fields, on both sides of the road

leading to Emmettsburg. A half-mile west of this road is an elevated

ridge of land, crowned with apple-orchards and groves of oaks. Turning

to the southeast, two miles distant, is Round-top, shaped like a

sugar-loaf, rocky, steep, hard to climb, on its western face, easy to

be held by those who have possession, clad with oaks and pines.

Nearer, a little east of the meridian, is Weed's Hill, with Plum Run

at its western base, flowing through a rocky ravine. From the sides of

the hill, and on its top, great boulders bulge, like plums in a

pudding. It is very stony west of the hill, as if Nature in making up

the mould had dumped the _debris_ there.

Between Round-top and Weed's there is a gap, where men bent on a

desperate enterprise might find a passway. Between Weed's and the

cemetery the ridge is broken down and smoothed out into fields and

pastures. The road to Taneytown runs east of this low ridge, the road

to Emmettsburg west of it. A small house stands on the west side of

the Taneytown road, with the American flag flying in front of it.

There are horses hitched to the fences, while others are nibbling the

grass in the fields. Officers with stars on their shoulders are

examining maps, writing, and sending off cavalrymen. It is General

Meade's head-quarters. When the Rebel batteries open it will be a warm

place.

Having taken a general look at the field, I rode forward towards the

town, between Stewart's and Taft's batteries, in position on either

side of the road. Soldiers in blue were lying behind the garden

fences.

"Where are you going?" said one.

"Into the town."

"I reckon not. The Rebs hold it, and I advise you to turn about. It is

rather dangerous where you are. The Rebels are right over there in

that brick house."

Right over there was not thirty rods distant.

"Ping!"--and there was the sharp ring of a bullet over our heads.

General Howard was in the cemetery with his maps and plans spread upon

the ground.

"We are just taking a lunch, and there is room for one more," was his

kind and courteous welcome. Then removing his hat, he asked God to

bless the repast. The bullets were occasionally singing over us.

Soldiers were taking up the headstones and removing the monuments from

their pedestals.

"I want to preserve them, besides, if a shot should strike a stone,

the pieces of marble would be likely to do injury," said the General.

The flowers were blooming around us. I gathered a handful as a memento

of the hour. Preparations were rapidly going on for the approaching

struggle. North, west, and southwest the whole country was alive with

Rebels,--long lines of men deploying in various directions, tents

going up, with yellow flags above them on the distant hills, thousands

of canvas-covered wagons, slowly winding along the roads, reaching as

far as the eye could see towards Chambersburg, Carlisle, and

Fairfield,--turning into the fields and taking positions in park.

There were batteries of artillery, the cannon gleaming in the noonday

sun, and hundreds of horsemen riding in hot haste on many a desperate

errand.

While partaking of our refreshment, General Howard narrated the

operations of the preceding day.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG.

[Sidenote: July, 1863.]

On Tuesday evening, the 30th of June, General Reynolds was in camp on

Marsh Run, a short distance from Emmettsburg, while General Howard,

with the Eleventh Corps, was in that town. Instructions were received

from General Meade assigning General Reynolds to the command of the

First, Eleventh, and Third Corps. General Reynolds moved early in the

morning to Gettysburg, and sent orders to General Howard to follow.

General Howard received the orders at 8 o'clock in the morning.

General Barlow's division of the Eleventh followed the First Corps by

the most direct road while General Schurz's and General Steinwehr's

divisions went by Horner's Mills, the distance being thirteen miles.

General Howard, with his staff, pushed on in advance of his troops.

Buford's division of cavalry passed through Gettysburg on Tuesday and

went into camp a mile and a half west of the town on the Chambersburg

pike. At 9.30 A. M. on Wednesday, the Rebels of A. P. Hill's division

appeared in front of him, and skirmishing commenced on the farm of

Hon. Edward McPherson. General Reynolds rode into Gettysburg about 10

o'clock in advance of his troops, turned up the Chambersburg road,

reconnoitred the position, rode back again, met the head of his column

a mile down the Emmettsburg road, turned it directly across the

fields, towards the seminary, and deployed his divisions across the

Chambersburg road. General Archer's brigade of Heth's division of A.

P. Hill's corps was advancing eastward, unaware of Reynolds's

movement. He had passed Herr's tavern, two miles beyond the town, when

he found himself face to face with General Meredith's brigade of

Reynolds's command. The fight opened at once. Archer and several

hundred of his men were captured. General Cutler, pushing out from

the town between the half-finished railroad and the Chambersburg road,

came in contact with Davis's brigade of Mississippians. The contest

increased. General Reynolds, while riding along the line, was killed

in the field beyond the Seminary, and the command devolved on General

Doubleday.

General Howard heard the cannonade, and riding rapidly up the

Emmettsburg road entered the town, sent messengers in search of

General Reynolds, asking for instructions, not knowing that he had

been killed.

While waiting the return of his aids, he went to the top of the

college to reconnoitre the surrounding country. His aid, Major Biddle,

soon came back, with the sad intelligence that General Reynolds had

fallen, and that the command devolved on himself.

It was half past eleven. The Rebels were appearing in increased force.

The prisoners taken said that the whole of A. P. Hill's corps was near

by.

"You will have your hands full before night. Longstreet is near, and

Ewell is coming," said one, boastingly.

"After an examination of the general features of the country," said

General Howard, "I came to the conclusion that the only tenable

position for my limited force was on this ridge. I saw that this was

the highest point. You will notice that it commands all the other

eminences. My artillery can sweep the fields completely."

He pointed towards the north, where across the pike, just beyond the

gateway, were Colonel Wainwright's batteries of the First Corps, and

around us were Colonel Osborn's of the Eleventh. Behind us, east of

the cemetery, was some of the reserve artillery.

The head of the Eleventh Corps reached Gettysburg about twelve

o'clock. The first and third division passed through the town, moved

out beyond the college, and joined the right of the First Corps.

Howard sent three batteries and his second division, Steinwehr's, to

take possession of the cemetery and the hill north of the Baltimore

pike.

Thus far success had attended the Union arms. A large number of

prisoners had been taken with but little loss, and the troops were

holding their own against a superior force. About half past twelve

cavalry scouts reported that Ewell was coming down the York road, and

was not more than four miles distant. General Howard sent an aid to

General Sickles, who was at Emmettsburg, requesting him to come on

with all haste. Another was sent down the Baltimore pike to the Two

Taverns, three miles distant, with a similar message to General

Slocum. The Second Corps was there,--resting in the fields. They had

heard the roar of the battle, and could see the clouds of smoke rising

over the intervening hills. General Slocum was the senior officer. He

received the message, but did not, for reasons best known to himself,

see fit to accede to the request. He could have put the Twelfth Corps

upon the ground in season to meet Ewell, but remained where he was

till after the contest for the day was over.

It was a quarter before three when Ewell's lines began to deploy by

John Blocher's house on the York road. The Rebel batteries were

wheeled into position, and opened on Wadsworth. Weiderick's battery in

the cemetery replied. Again a messenger went in haste to the

delinquent officer.

"I sent again to General Slocum, stating that my right flank was

attacked; that it was in danger of being turned, and asking him if he

was coming up," said General Howard.

The message was delivered to Slocum, who was still at the Two Taverns,

where he had been through the day. Weiderick's battery was in plain

view from that position, but General Slocum did not move.

This officer on Thursday and Friday did hard service. He afterward

commanded acceptably one of Sherman's wings in the march from Atlanta

to the sea, but on the first day at Gettysburg his inaction, unless

satisfactorily explained, will compel the impartial historian to

assign him a lower place on the scroll of fame than would otherwise

have been accorded him.

Sickles was too far off to render assistance. Meanwhile Ewell was

pressing on towards the college. Another division of Rebels under

General Pender came in from the southwest, and began to enfold the

left of Howard's line.

"I want a brigade to help me!" was the word from Schurz, commanding

the two divisions in front of Ewell, beyond the college.

"Send out Costa's brigade," said Howard to his chief of staff.

The brigade went down through the town accompanied by a battery, and

joined the line, upon the double-quick. An hour passed, of close,

desperate fighting. It wanted a quarter to four. Howard confronted by

four times his own force, was still holding his ground, waiting for

Slocum. Another messenger rode to the Two Taverns, urging Slocum to

advance.

"I must have reinforcements!" was the message from Doubleday on the

left. "You must reinforce me!" was the word from Wadsworth in the

centre.

"Hold out a little longer, if possible; I am expecting General Slocum

every moment," was Howard's reply. Still another despatch was sent to

the Two Taverns, but General Slocum had not moved. The Rebel cannon

were cutting Wadsworth's line. Pender was sweeping round Doubleday;

Ewell was enclosing Schurz. Sickles was five miles distant, advancing

as fast as he could. Slocum was where he had been from early morning,

three miles distant. The tide was turning. The only alternative was a

retreat. It was past four o'clock. For six hours the ground had been

held against a greatly superior force.

Major Howard, the General's brother, a member of his staff, dashed

down the pike in search of Slocum, with a request that he would move

at once, and send one division to the right and the other to the left

of Gettysburg. Slocum declined to go up to the front and take any

responsibility, as he understood that General Meade did not wish to

bring on a general engagement. He was willing, however, to send

forward his troops as General Howard desired, and issued his orders

accordingly. Under military law the question might be raised whether a

senior officer had a right to throw off the responsibility which

circumstances had forced upon him; also whether he could turn over his

troops to a subordinate.

[Illustration: The color-bearer.]

But before the divisions of the Twelfth Corps could get in motion, the

Rebels had completely enfolded both flanks of Howard's line. The order

to retreat was given. The two corps came crowding through the town.

The Rebels pressed on with cheers. Most of the First Corps reached the

cemetery ridge, and were rallied by Howard, Steinwehr, and Hancock.

This officer had just arrived. The troops were streaming over the

hill, when he reined up his steed in the cemetery. He came, under

direction of General Meade, to take charge of all the troops in front.

The Eleventh Corps was hard pressed, and lost between two and three

thousand prisoners in the town.

The Rebels of Ewell's command pushed up the northern slope, through

the hay-fields, flushed with victory; but Weiderick's battery poured

canister in quick discharges into the advancing ranks, breaking the

line.

The retreat was so orderly and the resistance so steady that the

Rebels gave utterance to their admiration. Said General Hill,--

"A Yankee color-bearer floated his standard in the field and the

regiment fought around it; and when at last it was obliged to retreat,

the color-bearer retired last of all, turning round now and then to

shake his fist in the face of the advancing Rebels. He was sorry when

he saw him meet his doom."[46]

[Footnote 46: Lieutenant Freemantle.--_Blackwood's Magazine_,

September, 1863.]

Three color-bearers of the Nineteenth Indiana were shot. The

Sergeant-Major, Asa Blanchard, ran and took the flag when the third

man fell, waved it, and cried "Rally, boys!" The next moment he fell.

His comrades stopped to carry him off. The Rebels were close at hand.

"Don't stop for me," he cried. "Don't let them have the flag. Tell

mother I never faltered." They were his parting words to his comrades,

who saved the flag.

General Hancock met General Howard and informed him of his

instructions, saying, "General Meade undoubtedly supposed that I was

your senior, but you outrank me."

"It is no time to talk about rank. I shall most cheerfully obey your

instructions and do all in my power to co-operate with you," was

Howard's reply, thus waiving the command which was his by right. They

perfectly agreed in what was to be done. General Howard took charge of

the troops and batteries on the right of the line, while General

Hancock brought order out of confusion on the left.

The Rebels having been repulsed by the batteries, and satisfied with

the work of the day, made no further attack, although they greatly

outnumbered the Union force.

General Sickles arrived at seven o'clock, and General Slocum also came

up, he being the senior officer, General Howard turned over the

command to him, while General Hancock went back to see General Meade

at Taneytown, to inform him of the state of affairs. The Third Corps

filed into position on the left of the First, south of the cemetery,

while the Twelfth took possession of Culp's Hill.

So closed the first day at Gettysburg.

SECOND DAY.

THURSDAY, July 2.

General Meade arrived on the battle-field at three o'clock on the

morning of the 2d, and had an interview with General Howard soon after

by the cemetery gate. They rode along the lines together.

"I am confident that we can hold this position," said General Howard.

"I am glad to hear you say so, for it is too late to leave it," said

Meade.

The cannonade began at daybreak, the guns in the cemetery and those of

the Rebels near Blocher's house keeping up a steady fire for an hour,

when both parties, as if by mutual consent, became silent; but the

pickets were at it all along the lines.

While I was conversing with General Howard, his brother, Major Howard,

who was keeping a sharp look upon the Rebels, came running up. "There

is a splendid chance to cut them up, General; just see them!"

A column of Rebels was moving along the Chambersburg road, and stood

out in bold relief.

"Let Osborn pitch in the shells from his rifled pieces," said the

Major.

General Howard surveyed them a moment and replied: "We might do them

some damage, but we are not quite ready to bring on a general

engagement. It isn't best to hurry. We shall have enough fighting

before night."

The battle had not commenced in earnest. Lee was moving his troops

towards the left. The Union pickets were posted along the Emmettsburg

road; some were lying down in the wheat-fields beyond it, keeping up a

steady interchange of shots with the Rebels. It was a favorable time

to ride over the ground where the great contest was to take place.

The first division, General Ames's, of the Eleventh Corps, was north

of the Baltimore pike, the third division, Schurz's, was on both sides

of it, and the second division, Steinwehr's, in the cemetery, lying

behind the stone wall, which forms its western boundary. Colonel

Osborn's batteries were on the crest of the ridge, in position to fire

over the heads of the infantry. Robinson's division of the First Corps

was posted at the left of Steinwehr's, crossing the Taneytown road.

Wadsworth's and Doubleday's divisions of the First were north of the

Baltimore pike, to the right of General Ames, reaching to Culp's Hill,

where they joined the Twelfth Corps.

Riding down the road towards Taneytown, I came upon General Stannard's

brigade of nine months' Vermont boys, lying in the open field in rear

of the cemetery. Occasionally a shell came over them from the Rebel

batteries, by Blocher's. It was their first experience under fire.

They were in reserve, knowing nothing of what was going on the other

side of the hill, yet tantalized by a flank fire from the distant

batteries. A short distance farther I came to General Meade's

head-quarters, in the house of Mrs. Leister. General Meade was there

surrounded by his staff, consulting maps and issuing orders. General

Hancock's head-quarters' flag,--the tree-foil of the Second

Corps,--was waving on the ridge southwest of the house. General

Slocum's,--the star-flag,--was in sight, on a conical hill a half-mile

eastward. The crescent flag of the Eleventh was proudly planted on the

highest elevation of the cemetery. The Maltese cross of the Fifth

Corps was a half-mile south, toward Round-top.

Turning into the field and riding to the top of the ridge, I came upon

Hayes's division of the Second Corps, joining Robinson's of the First;

then Gibbons's and Caldwell's of the Second, reaching to a narrow

roadway running west from the Taneytown road to the house of Abraham

Trostle, where, a half-mile in advance of the main line, was planted

the diamond flag of the Third Corps, General Sickles. Pushing directly

west, through a field where the grass was ripening for the scythe, I

approached the house of Mr. Codori, on the Emmettsburg road. But it

was a dangerous place just then to a man on horseback, for the pickets

of both armies were lying in the wheat-field west of the road. General

Carr's brigade of the Third Corps was lying behind the ridge near the

house of Peter Rogers. Soldiers were filling their canteens from the

brook in the hollow. Further down by the house of Mr. Wentz, at the

corner of the narrow road leading east from the Emmettsburg road, and

in the peach-orchards on both sides of it, were troops and batteries.

The Second New Hampshire, the First Maine, and the Third Michigan were

there, holding the angle of the line, which here turned east from the

Emmettsburg road. Thompson's battery was behind Wentz's house. General

Sickles had his other batteries in position along the narrow road, the

muzzles of the guns pointing southwest. Ames's New York battery was in

the orchard, and the gunners were lying beneath the peach-trees,

enjoying the leafy shade. Clark's New Jersey battery, Phillips's Fifth

Massachusetts, and Bigelow's Ninth Massachusetts were on the left of

Ames. Bigelow's was in front of Trostle's house, having complete

command and the full sweep of a beautiful slope beyond the road for

sixty rods.

The slope descends to a wooded ravine through which winds a brook,

gurgling over a rocky bed. Beyond the brook are the stone farm-house

and capacious barn of John Rose, in whose door-yard were the Union

pickets, exchanging a shot now and then with the Rebels of

Longstreet's corps, south of Rose's, who were lying along the

Emmettsburg road.

General Barnes's division of the Third Corps was in the woods south of

the narrow road, and among the rocks in front of Weed's Hill.

Sickles had advanced to the position upon his own judgment of the

fitness of the movement. He believed that it was necessary to hold the

ravine, down to Round-top, to prevent the enemy from passing through

the gap between that eminence and Weed's Hill.

General Meade had called his corps commanders to his head-quarters

for consultation. Sickles did not attend, deeming it of vital

importance to prepare for the advance of the enemy, and his soldiers

were levelling fences and removing obstructions.

A peremptory order reached Sickles requiring his presence. He rode to

the head-quarters of the army, but the conference was over, and he

went back to his command followed by General Meade.

"Are you not too much extended? Can you hold your front?" asked the

Commander-in-Chief.

"Yes, only I shall want more troops."

"I will send you the Fifth Corps, and you may call on Hancock for

support."

"I shall need more artillery."

"Send for all you want. Call on General Hunt of the Artillery Reserve.

I will direct him to send you all you want."

The pickets were keeping up a lively fire.

"I think that the Rebels will soon make their appearance," said

Sickles.

A moment later and the scattering fire became a volley. General Meade

took another look at the troops in position, and galloped back to his

head-quarters.

General Lee, in his report, has given an outline of his intentions, he

says:--

"It had not been intended to fight a general battle at such a

distance from our base, unless attacked by the enemy; but,

finding ourselves unexpectedly confronted by the Federal army, it

became a matter of difficulty to withdraw through the mountains

with our large trains. At the same time the country was

unfavorable for collecting supplies while in the presence of the

enemy's main body, as he was enabled to restrain our foraging

parties by occupying the passes of the mountains with regular and

local troops. A battle thus became, in a measure, unavoidable.

Encouraged by the successful issue of the engagement of the first

day, and in view of the valuable results that would ensue from

the defeat of the army of General Meade, it was thought advisable

to renew the attack.

"The remainder of Ewell's and Hill's corps having arrived, and

two divisions of Longstreet's, our preparations were made

accordingly. During the afternoon intelligence was received of

the arrival of General Stuart at Carlisle, and he was ordered to

march to Gettysburg and take position on the left. A full

account of these engagements cannot be given until the reports of

the several commanding officers shall have been received, and I

shall only offer a general description.

"The preparations for attack were not completed until the

afternoon of the 2d.

"The enemy held a high and commanding ridge, along which he had

massed a large amount of artillery. General Ewell occupied the

left of our line, General Hill the centre, and General Longstreet

the right. In front of General Longstreet the enemy held a

position from which, if he could be driven, it was thought that

our army could be used to advantage in assailing the more

elevated ground beyond, and thus enable us to reach the crest of

the ridge. That officer was directed to endeavor to carry this

position, while General Ewell attacked directly the high ground

on the enemy's right, which had already been partially fortified.

General Hill was instructed to threaten the centre of the Federal

line, in order to prevent reinforcements being sent to either

wing, and to avail himself of any opportunity that might present

itself to attack."

Lee had been all day perfecting his plans. He was riding along his

lines at sunrise, reconnoitring Meade's position. His head-quarters

were near the Theological Seminary, where, at five o'clock in the

morning, Lee, Hill, Longstreet, Hood, and Heth were engaged in

conversation. The conference lasted till seven o'clock, when

Longstreet rode down to his corps to make arrangements for the attack.

Hood had the extreme right, and McLaws stood next in line. Pickett,

commanding his other division, had not arrived. It was to be held in

reserve.[47]

[Footnote 47: The accompanying plan of the battle-field

accurately represents the general positions of the troops

engaged. On the right of the Union line is the Twelfth Corps;

then two divisions of the First; then the Eleventh in and

around the cemetery; then Robinson's division of the First;

then the Second and the Fifth on the left, occupying Weed's

Hill. The Third Corps is in the position it occupied at the

beginning of the battle on the afternoon of the second day.

It was forced back to Trostle's house. The Sixth Corps is in

the position it occupied at sunset on the second day. On the

third day it was in line along Weed's Hill. When Slocum went

over from the right to aid in repulsing Longstreet on the

second day, he passed near the two houses standing on the

Taneytown road. Meade's quarters were in the house over which

a flag is flying.

Longstreet is in the position which he occupied at three

o'clock on the afternoon of the second day, and to which he

retired after failing to push Sickles beyond Trostle's.

Pickett commanded a division and not a corps. But as his

division took the lead in the last attack, on the third day,

and as his repulse was seemingly the turning-point of the

Rebellion, especial mention has been made of the part taken

by the troops under his command. Hill supported him. A

portion of Hill's troops were with Longstreet in the attack

of the second day.

Ewell is in the position he occupied at dark on the second

day, while two of Slocum's divisions were aiding the left of

Meade's line.

Lee's head-quarters were near Smucker's house.

The fight on the first day began on Willoughby's Run. The

Union lines on that day extended from the Middletown road

along the semicircle occupied by the Rebel cannon in the

diagram, to the railroad east of Blocher's. The map is

reduced from an accurate survey.

The best plan of this battle extant is the isometrical

picture of Gettysburg, by Colonel J. B. Batchelder, who has

devoted many months to the study of the field. It will ever

be standard authority for the historian.]

Lee chose, as his first point of attack, the position occupied by

Sickles. The ground by Wentz's house is higher than the ridge, where

Hancock had established his head-quarters. If he could drive Sickles

from the peach-orchard by turning his left flank, and gain Weed's

Hill, Meade would be compelled to retreat, and the nature of the

ground was such in rear of the cemetery that a retreat might be turned

into a complete rout. Meade's position was a very fair one for

defence, but one from which an army could not well retire before a

victorious enemy. The trains in park along Rock Creek would have been

in the way. Baggage trains are exceedingly useful, but there are times

when commanders do not know what to do with them. A battery in the

hands of the enemy, planted on the ridge, or in the cemetery, if those

places had fallen into the hands of the Rebels, would have produced

confusion in Meade's rear among the teamsters, who are not always cool

under fire, especially if they have refractory mules to manage.

General Meade would have chosen a position fifteen or twenty miles in

rear, nearer to his base of supplies, and had he been at Gettysburg on

Wednesday evening, doubtless would have ordered a retreat. The

question, whether to fall back or to hold the position, was seriously

debated. But Howard had made the stand. He believed that the position

could be held, and Lee defeated there. He did not calculate for a

defeat, but for victory. Had Meade fallen back, Lee would have been

wary of moving on. It was not his intention, he says, to fight a

general battle so far from his base. He would have followed

cautiously, if at all. Through the foresight, faith, and courage of

Howard, therefore, Gettysburg has become a turning-point in history.

And yet, not that alone, for the warp and woof of history are made up

of innumerable threads. The Rebels, on that afternoon of Thursday, as

they moved out from the woods into the fields south of the house of

John Rose, had a thorough contempt for the troops in blue, standing

beneath the peach-trees in Sherfy's orchard, and along the road

towards Trostle's. Big Bethel, Bull Run, Richmond, Manassas,

Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Cedar Mountain, Harper's Ferry they

remembered as victories; and even Antietam and South Mountain were

called drawn battles by the Rebel commander-in-chief. They had already

achieved one victory on the soil of Pennsylvania. Five thousand

Yankees had been captured. The troops of the Confederacy were

invincible, not only while fighting at their own doors, but as

invaders of the North. Such was the feeling of the soldiers. But the

Rebel officers were not quite so sanguine of success as the men. An

Englishman, who saw the fight from the Rebel side, says:--