GUARDING THE BLACKWATER
General Pryor's brigade had been composed of regiments from Alabama,
Florida, Mississippi, North Carolina, and Virginia. Congress having
recommended that regiments should be enlisted under officers from their
own states,—in order to remedy, if possible, the disinclination to
reënlist for the war,—there was a general upheaval and change throughout
the entire army during the autumn of 1862. On the 10th of November
General Pryor was ordered to report for duty to Major-General G. W.
Smith, commanding at Richmond, Virginia, the Second, Fifth, and Eighth
Florida Regiments of his brigade being assigned to a Florida brigadier,
the Fourteenth Alabama and the Fifth North Carolina to officers from
their respective states.
On November 2 General Longstreet had written to General Pryor: "I
understand that General Perry will have the Florida regiments. Please
make some suggestion as to what arrangement we may be able to make for
you."
Accordingly my husband consulted General Lee, and received the following
letter from him, dated November 25, 1862:—
"GENERAL: Your letter of the 23d inst. has just been received.
I regret my inability to detach from this army the two
regiments to operate on the Blackwater. As far as I am able to
judge, troops are more wanted here than there, and it might be
better to bring the troops which it is contemplated to unite
with those in question to this army. I regretted at the time
the breaking up of your former brigade, but you are aware that
the circumstances which produced it were beyond my control.
I hope it will not be long before you will be again in the
field, that the country may derive the benefit of your zeal
and activity."
On November 29, General Pryor was ordered by General G. W. Smith to
report to Major-General French, and was personally introduced to the
latter by the following letter:—
"RICHMOND, November 29, 1862.
"MY DEAR GENERAL: This will be handed you by my friend,
Brigadier-General Pryor. General Pryor's brigade in General
Lee's army was recently broken up in rearranging the brigades
by states. It is intended by the government that he shall
have a Virginia brigade as soon as one can be formed for him.
In the meanwhile, it is General Lee's desire that General
Pryor shall serve upon the Blackwater—his own section of the
country—and he directs that the two regiments of cavalry on
the Blackwater be placed under his command, etc....
"General Pryor has already won for himself the reputation of
being one of the best, most daring, and energetic officers
in the army, highly distinguished in civil life, and one
of the most influential men in the state, especially in his
own section. He will coöperate with you thoroughly, and I am
sure will render good service to the cause and be of great
assistance to yourself.
"I am satisfied, from what General Lee writes me, that at
present we can have no troops from his army. The impression
is, that a great battle is impending in the vicinity of
Fredericksburg. We must keep our house in order, and make the
most of the means we have and can procure from other sources
than General Lee's army.
"Very truly yours,
"G. W. SMITH, _Major-General_."
A rule enforced for the common good often falls heavily upon
individuals. General Pryor grieved to lose his men, and they united
in many petitions to be allowed to remain with him. He undertook the
protection of the Blackwater region with an inadequate force, in the
certain expectation that reënforcements would be sent to him.
The enemy destined to conquer us at last—the "ravenous, hunger-starved
wolf"—already menaced us. General Longstreet had learned that corn and
bacon were stored in the northeastern counties of North Carolina, and
he had sent two companies of cavalry on a foraging expedition, to the
region around Suffolk.
"The Confederate lines," says a historian, "extended only to the
Blackwater River on the east, where a body of Confederate troops
was stationed to keep the enemy in check." That body was commanded
by General Pryor, now in front of a large Federal force, to keep it
in check while the wagon-trains sent off corn and bacon for Lee's
army. This was accomplished by sleepless vigilance on the part of the
Confederate General. The Federal forces made frequent sallies from
Suffolk, but were always driven back with heavy loss. It is amusing to
read of the calmness with which his commanding officers ordered him to
accomplish great things with his small force.
"I cannot," says General Colston, "forward your requisition for two
regiments of infantry and one of cavalry: it is almost useless to
make such requisitions, for they remain unanswered. You must use every
possible means to deceive the enemy as to your strength, and you must
_hold the line of the Blackwater to the last extremity_."
General French writes: "If I had any way to increase your forces, I
should do so, but I have to bow to higher authority and the necessities
of the service. But you must annoy the villains all you can, and make
them uncomfortable. Give them no rest. Ambush them at every turn."
General Pryor did not dream I would come to his camp at Blackwater. He
supposed I would find quarters among my friends at home, but I had now
no home. Our venerable father had sent his family to the interior after
the battles around Richmond; had given up his church in Petersburg, and,
commending the women, old men, and children to the care of a successor,
had entered the army as chaplain, "where," as he said, "I can follow my
own church members and comfort them in sickness, if I can do no more."
As soon as the position of our brigade was made known to me, I drew
forth the box containing the camp outfit, packed a trunk or two, and
took the cars for the Blackwater. The terminus of the railroad was only
a few miles from our camp. The Confederate train could go no farther
because of the enemy. The day's journey was long, for the passenger car
attached to the transportation train was dependent upon the movements
of the latter. The few passengers who had set forth with me in the
morning had left at various wayside stations, and I was now alone. I
had no idea where we should sleep that night. I thought I would manage
it somehow—somewhere.
We arrived at twilight at the end of our journey. When I left the car
my little boys gathered around me. There was a small wooden building
near, which served for waiting-room and post-office. The only dwelling
in sight was another small house, surrounded by a few bare trees. My
first impression was that I had never before seen such an expanse of
gray sky. The face of the earth was a dead, bare level, as far as the
eye could reach; and much, very much of it lay under water. I was in
the region of swamps, stretching on and on until they culminated in the
one great "Dismal Swamp" of the country. No sounds were to be heard,
no hum of industry or lowing of cattle, but a mighty concert rose from
thousands, nay, millions, of frogs.
"Now," thought I, "here is really a fine opportunity to be 'jolly'! Mark
Tapley's swamps couldn't surpass these." But all the railroad folk were
departing, and the postmaster was preparing to lock his door and leave
also. I liked the looks of the little man, and ventured:—
"Can you tell me, sir, where I can get lodging to-night? I am the
General's wife—Mrs. Pryor—and to-morrow he will take care of me. I know
he has no place for us in camp."
The little man considered, and looked us over—a lady, three little boys,
trunks, and a box.
"I can take thee in myself," he said. "I am just going home."
"Oh, thank you, thank you. I shall need only the smallest trunk
to-night."
"I'm afraid I can hardly make thee comfortable, as I live alone, but
thee is welcome."
"Thee"! Oh, joy! I thought. This is a blessed little Quaker! We'll not
part again! Here I rest. We soon reached his door, and he called out
for "Charity!"
The call was answered in person by a black girl in a short
linsey-woolsey frock which revealed her ankles and bare feet, her hair
tied in innumerable little tails, sticking all over her head like a
porcupine's quills. She was the most alert little creature I ever saw,
nimble-footed and quick. "Charity," said my host, "have a good fire
made upstairs in the front room at once. Thee is welcome," he repeated,
turning to me, and I followed the sable maiden up the stair.
"And so your name is Charity?"
"Charity's meh name an' Charity's meh naycher," she informed me. She
soon brought in Dick with an armful of wood, and a fine, welcome fire
cheered us.
"You needn' be lookin' at de baid," said Charity. "I'll soon sheet it.
He's got sto's o' quilts, but I dunno as he'll s'render 'em."
It appeared that he would. He brought them, an armful, himself, and the
bright patchwork on our two beds looked very inviting.
Charity leaned against the mantel, regarding me with leisurely scrutiny,
her bare feet crossed one over the other. I felt it to be the part of
prudence to placate her.
"We'll unlock the trunk," I said,—Dick had already fetched it,—"and I'll
find a pretty ribbon for you."
"I knowed," said the girl, "you was some punkins soon's I sot eyes on
you." Before I was summoned to the supper of biscuit, fried bacon, and
coffee without cream, Charity had enlightened me about her employer;
she made haste to tell me he was not her master. "I'se free, I is! Mo'n
dat, he's a Quaker, an' ef you ever seen Quakers, you knows dey don'
like no slaves 'roun'. Yas'm, I'se free—an' Dick, he's a po'-white boy.
Me'n him does all de wuk cep'n in hawg-killin' time, an' den de fokes
comes fum de quarters to he'p."
"Are you lonesome?" I asked, making conversation.
"_Dat_ I is. You see he los' his wife two mont' ago. Dese here quilts
is hern. She made 'em."
"Dear me," I said, "I'm so sorry!"
But Charity had broken down and was sobbing with her head against the
mantel.
"Yas'm! I cert'nly is lonesum! She jes up an' die, an', an' de po'
little baby daid too."
As I lay in bed I thought of the dear dead woman. I resolved to be
nothing but a comfort to Charity and that little Quaker. I made plans
for the happiness of both. With my heart full of sympathy, full of
gratitude, full of hope, I slept sweetly and long.
In the morning a message sent from the post-office through an inquirer
from the camp brought me my General; brought, too, an invitation from
my host to make this house his headquarters, and during the day he
moved over bag and baggage. A cook was detailed from the camp, we were
to furnish our own table; and our kind host looked so deeply wounded
when we offered rent for our lodgings, that no more was said on that
subject. I had brought nothing with me except the plain contents of my
camp chest. The thick white china of the table was unattractive, and I
consulted Charity about the possibility of buying something better. Our
only market-town, Suffolk, was in the hands of the enemy.
"He's got painted cups an' saucers, but I dunno's he'll s'render 'em,"
said Charity.
"Suppose you ask him!"
"I dun try 'im once. I ax 'im dat time when his mother-in-law cum to
see 'im—an' he nuvver say nuthin! Den I let 'im rip!"
But after a few days "he" threw in my lap a bunch of keys, saying
simply, "Everything in the house and on the plantation belongs to thee."
Some of them were enormous, like the key of the Bastile, and all were
rusted. I selected a small one, returning the rest, and in Charity's
presence unlocked the old mahogany sideboard and counted to her the
cups, saucers, and plates, gilt-edged, and decorated with a rosebud here
and there.
"Good Gawd!" said Charity. "I _nuvver_ thought he'd s'render the chany
cups!"
"Not one is to be broken," I said, sternly. "If you break one, tell me
at once and bring me the pieces, so I can send to Richmond and replace
it."
I saw but little of my kind host. He lived at the post-office, remaining
late every night to open the mail and have it ready for an early morning
delivery to the camp, and returning home at twelve o'clock to sleep.
Every night thereafter he found a bright fire, a clean-swept hearth,
and on plates before the fire, biscuits, sausage or broiled ham, and
a little pot of coffee. A table—with a lamp and the latest papers—was
drawn up beside his arm-chair.
A few months after I left his house for Petersburg I received the
following letter from him:—
"RESPECTED FRIEND: I have now married. I couldn't stand it.
"Thy friend,
"I. P."
Since then I have always counselled, as cure for an incorrigible
bachelor, simply to take care of him beautifully for three months and
then—leave him!
[Illustration: HON. ROGER A. PRYOR.
_From a photograph, about 1870._]
But to return: Charity's example was contagious. "I cert'nly was
lonesum" on the Blackwater. The General and his staff were forever
in the saddle. When he returned after his skirmishes and exploring
expeditions, he was too tired to amuse me. I busied myself teaching the
little boys and dispensing the provisions our men brought me. Bacon and
biscuit, without butter, fruit, or milk, was deadly diet for me, so I
was allowed an occasional courier from the camp to take my money and
scour the country for better fare. When he appeared, galloping down
the lane, on his return, he looked like some extraordinary feathered
creature with a horse's head, so completely were both covered with
turkeys, ducks, geese, and chickens. Then would ensue a gift to the camp
hospital of soups and stews and a fine supper for my General's staff,
Major Shepard, Captain Whitner, Major Keiley, and Captain McCann, with
as many choice spirits from the officers as we could entertain. Then was
brewed, by the majors and captains aforesaid, a mighty bowl of egg-nog,
sweet and very stiff, for there was no milk to temper its strength. I
feared at first that my Quaker host might disapprove, but I never failed
to find the foaming glass I placed beside his night lamp quite empty
next morning.
I could manage to occupy myself during the day. I could make a study
of Charity, in whom I soon perceived quite an interesting character,
quick to learn, responsive, and most affectionate. She was literally my
only female companion. I had no neighbors, nowhere to drive (the enemy
was only fifteen miles off) except on the watery lanes, nothing to
meet when driving except, perhaps, a slow-moving cart drawn by steeds
like Sydney Smith's "Tug-and-Lug, Haul-and-Crawl," driven by a negro
boy, who stood with feet planted on the shafts and who entertained his
patient, long-suffering oxen by telling them of the torments awaiting
them unless they would "go along." But the long and lonely evenings
were hard to bear, when the general and his staff were abroad, roaming
like watch-dogs around the frontier, deluding the enemy by a great show
of bravado here and there. Nothing like the orchestra of frogs can be
imagined. They serenaded the moon all night long; a magnificent diapason
of mighty voices, high soprano, full baritone, and heavy bass. I could
understand the desperate need of the lone woman who had once lived here.
The patchwork quilts were eloquent witnesses.
As the time dragged on in this lonely place, I began to find that I
wanted many articles classed in a woman's mind generally as "things."
There is not a more generous word in the English language than "things."
It may mean, according to Stormonth, "A Swedish assize of justice,
a Norwegian parliament, a meeting for palaver on public affairs,
luggage, or clothes,"—which proves how important is the making of
new dictionaries as we travel along toward our highest civilization.
For instance: when you say to your butler, "Be careful with the
breakfast things," he understands you perfectly. He knows you mean the
egg-shell cups, and blossomy plates. When you bid your maid bring your
"things," she appears with your hat, gloves, cloak, and furs. "Her
rooms are comfortable, but I don't like her things," you say when the
_bric-à-brac_ and curios are not to your taste. "I never speak of such
things," you declare in haughty superiority when some guest has filled
an hour with foolish or injurious gossip. "Such things are beneath
contempt," says the lawyer of certain practices familiar in the courts.
And then we have "poor thing,"—not the traditional robin who "hides his
head under his wing, poor thing," but some fine lady, far from young
and—unmarried! And "a poor thing, sir, but mine own,"—this time not a
fine lady by any means, only "an ill-favored virgin."
And then, having vexed our souls all the week over mundane "things," we
are given, on Sunday, glimpses of another world quite as full of them.
"Wean yourselves from earthly idols and fix your hearts on heavenly
things," says the bishop. Things! Heavenly things! Stars, harps, crowns
of righteousness, high and lofty aspirations!
Not long after the battle of Fredericksburg a participator described
the panic, the horror, the fleeing of the women and children from their
homes. "And then," he said, "there arose from that homeless, stricken
crowd of women a cry of mortal agony, '_My things! Oh, my things!_'"
"Things" to me meant only needful garments. I could starve with perfect
serenity. I could live without the latest novel, the late magazines,
egg-shell china, rich attire, jewels; but I had not had a new bonnet
for three years. Shoes, and above all shoestrings, were needed by my
little boys, needles, tapes, sewing thread and sewing silk, stays and
staylaces, gloves, combs. Of course I needed garments of muslin and
linen. Had I not rolled bandages of mine? I needed gowns. A calico dress
now cost $40. But these large "things" were quite beyond all hope on the
Blackwater. Smaller articles I might, perhaps, compass. The General's
orders, however, strictly forbade the purchase by private individuals
of articles smuggled through the lines. He once confiscated a sloop on
the Blackwater laden with women's shoes, slippers, and Congress gaiters!
He would not allow me a shoe; all were sent to Richmond to be sold for
the benefit of the government. Communication with the enemy must be
discouraged lest he discover our weakness.
I knew that most of the tight little carts peddling fish, potatoes,
and eggs had double bottoms between which were all sorts of delightful
things, but I never dared approach the pedler on the subject; and as I
was the commanding officer's wife, he dared not approach me.
One day I was in an ambulance, driving on one of the interminable lanes
of the region, the only incident being the watery crossing over the
"cosin," as the driver called the swamps that had been "Poquosin" in
the Indian tongue. Behind me came a jolting two-wheeled cart, drawn
by a mule and driven by a small negro boy, who stood in front with a
foot planted firmly upon each of the shafts. Within, and completely
filling the vehicle, which was nothing more than a box on wheels, sat
a dignified-looking woman. The dame of the ambulance at once became
fascinated by a small basket of sweet potatoes which the dame of the
cart carried in her lap.
With a view to acquiring these treasures I essayed a tentative
conversation upon the weather, the prospects of a late spring, and
finally the scarcity of provisions and consequent suffering of the
soldiers.
After a keen glance of scrutiny the market woman exclaimed, "Well, I am
doing all I can for them! I know you won't speak of it! Look here!"
Lifting the edge of her hooped petticoat, she revealed a roll of army
cloth, several pairs of cavalry boots, a roll of crimson flannel,
packages of gilt braid and sewing silk, cans of preserved meats, a bag
of coffee! She was on her way to our own camp, right under the General's
nose! Of course I should not betray her—I promised. I did more. Before
we parted she had drawn forth a little memorandum book and had taken a
list of my own necessities. She did not "run the blockade" herself. She
had an agent—"a dear, good Suffolk man"—who would fill my order on his
next trip.
It isn't worth while to tell men everything. They are not supposed to
be interested in the needle-and-thread ways of women!
About three weeks after my interview with the blockade-runner, I was
driving again in the ambulance. Suddenly Captain Whitner, who had
galloped to overtake me, wheeled in front of the horses and stopped
them.
"Good morning, Captain! Any news at camp I am permitted to learn?"
I perceived the corners of his mouth twitching, but he said gravely:—
"I am commissioned to tell you that you must consider yourself under
arrest. I am sent to discharge this painful duty and conduct you to
camp."
"By whose order, pray?"
"Official orders from headquarters," and he presented a paper.
I knew he must be acting a part for his own amusement, and I asked no
questions. I would not gratify him by seeming to be alarmed.
When I arrived at my husband's tent, I found him with Major Shepard,
and a wretched-looking countryman standing near them. I comprehended
the situation at a glance and resolved to play my part.
"This prisoner," said the General, "has been arrested for bringing in
contraband goods in violation of express orders. He pleads that the
goods were ordered by the General's wife for the use of the General's
family. Have you anything to say to show cause why he should not be
punished?"
"May it please the court," I said, turning to Major Shepard and Captain
Whitner, "I call you to witness that I invited you last week to partake
of a bowl of egg-nog, telling you it was made of contraband French
brandy. When the commanding officer's attention was called to the fact,
he said he could do nothing; he was obliged to submit because I was his
superior officer, that I outranked him everywhere except on the march
and the battle-field."
A burst of laughter interrupted me. The chairman called for order.
"I confess that I deputed this estimable gentleman to procure some
sewing silk for the mending of the garments of my subordinate officer.
I had hoped that through his valor the blockade would, ere this, have
been raised. Finding myself mistaken—"
"The prisoner is discharged," said the General,—I uttered an exclamation
of triumph,—"but," he added, "the goods are confiscated for the benefit
of the Confederate government, and are already on the way to Richmond."
I was very sorry for the fright the poor man had suffered for my sake.
I took him home with me beside the driver on the ambulance. Of course
I paid him. I had one piece of family silver with me for which I had no
use on the Blackwater,—a butter knife—and I gave it to him as a souvenir
of his happy escape from danger.
How did I manage without my needles and thread?
Charity came to me early one morning with a brown paper parcel in her
arms.
"Dat ole creeter," said Charity, "what come home wid you las' week,
knock at de kitchen do' fo' day dis mornin'. He gimme dis, an' say you
bleeged to git it fo' de Gen'al wake up; an'—an'—he say—but Lawd! 'tain'
wuf while to tell you what he say! But he _do_ say to tell you to gimme
sumpin out'n de bundle. Gawd knows I ain' no cravin' po'-white-folks'
nigger, but dat what he say."
I need not give an inventory of the contents of the bundle. They were
perfectly satisfactory to me—and to Charity.
We had slender mails on the Blackwater, few papers, no books.
Occasionally a letter from Agnes gave me news of the outside world.
"RICHMOND, January 7, 1863.
"MY DEARIE: Have you no pen, ink, and paper on the
Blackwater—the very name of which suggests ink? I get no
news of you at all. How do you amuse yourself, and have you
anything to read? I am sending you to-day a copy of Victor
Hugo's last novel, "Les Misérables," reprinted by a Charleston
firm on the best paper they could get, poor fellows, pretty
bad I must acknowledge. You'll go wild over that book—I
did—and everybody does.
"Major Shepard must order some copies for the brigade. As he
has plenty of meat and bread now, he can afford it. I have
cried my eyes out over Fantine and Cosette and Jean Valjean.
The soldiers are all reading it. They calmly walk into the
bookstores, poor dear fellows, and ask for "Lee's Miserables
faintin'!"—the first volume being "Fantine." I've worlds of
news to tell you. Alice Gregory is engaged to Arthur Herbert,
the handsomest man I know. Alice is looking lovely and so
happy. Helen came to see me in Petersburg, and is all the time
worried about Ben. Did you know that Jim Field lost a leg at
Malvern Hills—or in the hospital afterwards? He was such a
lovely fellow—engaged to Sue Bland—I never saw a handsomer
pair. Well, Sue thinks as much as I do about good looks, and
Jim wrote to release her. She had a good cry, and finally came
down to Richmond, married him, and took him home to nurse him.
"Do you realize the fact that we shall soon be without a
stitch of clothes? There is not a bonnet for sale in Richmond.
Some of the girls smuggle them, which I for one consider in
the worst possible taste, to say the least. We have no right
at this time to dress better than our neighbors, and besides,
the soldiers need every cent of our money. Do you remember
in Washington my pearl-gray silk bonnet, trimmed inside with
lilies of the valley? I have ripped it up, washed and ironed
it, dyed the lilies blue (they are bluebells now), and it
is very becoming. All the girls intend to plait hats next
summer when the wheat ripens, for they have no blocks on
which to press the coal-scuttle bonnets, and after all when
our blockade is raised we may find they are not at all worn,
while hats are hats and never go out of fashion. The country
girls made them last summer and pressed the crowns over bowls
and tin pails. I could make lovely paper flowers if I had
materials.
"It seems rather volatile to discuss such things while our
dear country is in such peril. Heaven knows I would costume
myself in coffee-bags if that would help, but having no
coffee, where could I get the bags? I'll e'en go afield next
summer, and while Boaz is at the front, Ruth will steal his
sheaves for her adornment.
"The papers announce that General French reports the enemy
forty-five thousand strong at Suffolk. How many men has your
General? Dear, dear!
"But we are fortifying around Richmond. While I write a great
crowd of negroes is passing through the streets, singing as
they march. They have been working on the fortifications north
of the city, and are now going to work on them south of us.
They don't seem to concern themselves much about Mr. Lincoln's
Emancipation Proclamation, and they seem to have no desire to
do any of the fighting.
"Your loving
"AGNES."
"P. S.—I attended Mrs. Davis's last reception. There was a
crowd, all in evening dress. You see, as we don't often wear
our evening gowns, they are still quite passable. I wore
the gray silk with eleven flounces which was made for Mrs.
Douglas's last reception, and by the bye, who do you think
was at the battle of Williamsburg, on General McClellan's
staff? The Prince de Joinville who drank the Rose wine with
you at the Baron de Limbourg's reception to the Japs. Doesn't
it all seem so long ago—so far away? The Prince de Joinville
escorted me to one of the President's levees—don't you
remember?—and now I attend another President's levee and hear
him calmly telling some people that rats, if fat, are as good
as squirrels, and that we can never afford mule meat. It would
be too expensive, but the time may come when rats will be in
demand.
"Dearly,
"AGNES."
The Emancipation Proclamation did not create a ripple of excitement
among the colored members of our households in Virginia. Of its effect
elsewhere I could not judge. As to fighting, our own negroes never
dreamed of such a thing. The colored troops of the North were not
inferior, we were told, in discipline and courage to other soldiers;
but the martial spirit among them had its exceptions. A Northern writer
has recorded an interview with a negro who had run the blockade and
entered the service of a Federal officer. He was met on board a steamer,
after the battle of Fort Donelson, on his way to a new situation, and
questioned in regard to his experience of war.[17]
"Were you in the fight?"
"Had a little taste of it, sah."
"Stood your ground, of course."
"No, sah! I run."
"Not at the first fire?"
"Yes, sah, an' would a' run sooner ef I knowed it was a-comin'!"
"Why, that wasn't very creditable to your courage, was it?"
"Dat ain't in my line, sah—cookin's my perfeshun."
"But have you no regard for your reputation?"
"Refutation's nothin' by de side o' life."
"But you don't consider your life worth more than other people's, do
you?"
"Hit's wuth mo' to me, sah."
"Then you must value it very highly."
"Yas, sah, I does,—mo'n all dis wuld! Mo' dan a million o' dollars,
sah. What would dat be wuth to a man wid de bref out o' 'im?
Self-perserbashun is de fust law wid me, sah!"
"But why should you act upon a different rule from other men?"
"'Cause diffunt man set diffunt value 'pon his life. Mine ain't in de
market."
"Well, if all soldiers were like you, traitors might have broken up the
government without resistance."
"Dat's so! Dar wouldn't 'a' been no hep fer it. But I don' put my life
in de scale against no gubberment on dis yearth. No gubberment gwine
pay me ef I loss messef."
"Well, do you think you would have been much missed if you had been
killed?"
"Maybe not, sah! A daid white man ain' much use to dese yere sogers,
let alone a daid niggah, but I'd 'a' missed mysef powerful, an' dat's
de pint wid me."
Towards the last of January we had a season of warm, humid weather.
Apparently the winter was over; the grass was springing on the swamp,
green and luxurious, and the willows swelling into bud. There were no
singing birds on the Blackwater as early as January 28, but the frogs
were mightily exercised upon the coming of spring, and their nightly
concerts took on a jubilant note.
One day I had a few moments' conversation with my husband about army
affairs, and he remarked that our Southern soldiers were always restless
unless they were in action. "They never can stand still in battle," he
said; "they are willing to yell and charge the most desperate positions,
but if they can't move forward, they must move backward. Stand still
they cannot."
I thought I could perceive symptoms of restlessness on the part of their
commander. Often in the middle of the night he would summon John, mount
him, and send him to camp, a short distance away; and presently I would
hear the tramp, tramp of the General's staff officers, coming to hold
a council of war in his bedroom. On the 28th of January he confided to
me that on the next day he would make a sally in the direction of the
enemy. "He is getting entirely too impudent," said he; "I'm not strong
enough to drive him out of the country, but he must keep his place."
I had just received a present of coffee. This was at once roasted and
ground. On the day of the march, fires were kindled under the great
pots used at the "hog-killing time" (an era in the household) and many
gallons of coffee were prepared. This was sweetened, and when our men
paused near the house to form the line of march, the servants and little
boys passed down the line with buckets of the steaming coffee, cups,
dippers, and gourds. Every soldier had a good draught of comfort and
cheer. The weather had suddenly changed. The great snow-storm that fell
in a few days was gathering, the skies were lowering, and the horizon
was dark and threatening.
After the men had marched away, I drove to the hospital tent and
put myself at the disposal of the surgeon. We inspected the store of
bandages and lint, and I was intrusted with the preparation of more.
"I ain' got no use for dis stuff," said my one female friend and
companion, Charity, whom I pressed into service to help me pick lint.
"'Pears like 'tain't good for nuthin' but to line a bird's nes'."
"It will be soft for the wound of a soldier," I said, "after he has
fought the Yankees."
"I'll pick den; I'll tar up my onlies' apun ef he'll kill one."
"Oh, Charity!"
"Yas'm, I will dat! Huccome we all don' drive 'm out o' Suffolk? Der's
lodes an lodes o' shoes an' stockin's, an' sugar an' cawfy in Suffolk!
An' dese nasty Abolition Yankees got 'em all!"
"Those are not proper words for you to use," I said. "What have you
against the Northern people? They never did you harm."
"Dey ain't, ain't dey?" she replied, with feeling. "Huccome I'se got to
go barfooted? Hit's scan'lous for a free gal to go barfooted, like she
was so no 'count she couldn't git a par o' shoes fer herse'f."
"I'll ask the General to order a pair for you."
"Humph!" said Charity, scornfully; "you can't do nothin' wid dat Gen'al.
Ain' I hear you baig an' baig 'im for a par o' slippers dat time he
fristricated de boatload full? I ain' seen you git de slippers."
Charity was not the only one of the Nation's Wards who held the enemy
in contempt. The special terms in which she designated them were in
common use at the time. She had often heard them from the General's
servant, John, who shared the opinions of the common soldier. Some
of the expressions of the great men I knew in Washington were quite
as offensive and not a bit less inelegant, although framed in better
English. I never approved of "calling names," I had seen what comes of
it; and I reproved John for teaching them to my little boys.
"No'm," said John, "I won't say nothin'; I'll just say the Yankees are
mighty mean folks."
My first news from the General was cheering, but he would not return
for a day or two. He must fly about the frontier a little in various
directions to let the enemy know he was holding his own. His official
report was as follows:—
"TO BRIGADIER-GENERAL COLSTON, Petersburg, Va.
"CARRSVILLE, ISLE OF WIGHT, January 30, 1863.
"GENERAL: This morning at 4 o'clock the enemy under
Major-General Peck attacked me at Kelly's store, eight
miles from Suffolk. After three hours' severe fighting we
repulsed them at all points and held the field. Their force
is represented by prisoners to be between ten and fifteen
thousand. My loss in killed and wounded will not exceed
fifty—no prisoners. I regret that Col. Poage is among the
killed. We inflicted a heavy loss on the enemy.
"Respectfully,
"ROGER A. PRYOR, _Brigadier-General Commanding_."
On February 2 the General thus addressed his troops: "The
Brigadier-General congratulates the troops of this command on the
results of the recent combat.
"The enemy endeavored under cover of night to steal an inglorious
victory by surprise, but he found us prepared at every point, and
despite his superior numbers, greater than your own, in the proportion
of five to one, he was signally repulsed and compelled to leave us in
possession of the field.
"After silencing his guns and dispersing his infantry, you remained
on the field from night until one o'clock, awaiting the renewal of the
attack, but he did not again venture to encounter your terrible fire.
"When the disparity of force between the parties is considered, with
the proximity of the enemy to his stronghold, and his facilities of
reënforcements by railway, the result of the action of the 30th will be
accepted as a splendid illustration of your courage and good conduct."
One of the "enemy's" papers declared that our force was "three regiments
of infantry, fourteen pieces of artillery, and about nine hundred
cavalry."
The temptation to "lie under a mistake" was great in those days of
possible disaffection, when soldiers had to believe in their cause in
order to defend it. One of the newspaper correspondents of the enemy
explained why we were not again attacked after the first fight. He
said: "Some may inquire why we did not march forthwith to Carrsville and
attack the rebels again. The reasons are obvious. Had he went [_sic_] to
Carrsville Pryor would have had the advantage to cut off our retreat.
The natives know every bypath and blind road through the woods and are
ever ready to help the rebels to our detriment. Pryor can always cross
the Blackwater on his floating bridge. It is prudent to allow an enemy
to get well away from his stronghold the better to capture his guns and
destroy his ammunition," etc.
Another paper declares he was heavily reënforced at Carrsville.
Another records: "The rebels have been very bold in this neighborhood.
Pryor has been in the habit of crossing the Blackwater River whenever
he wanted to. Our attacking him this time must have been a real surprise
to him. We took a large number of prisoners!"
He continued the indulgence of this habit until spring, receiving from
his countrymen unstinted praise for his protection of that part of our
state. While he could not utterly rout the invading army, he "held them
very uneasy."
I was made rich by enthusiastic congratulations from our capital and
from Petersburg. Agnes wrote from Richmond:—
"Have you seen the _Enquirer_? Of course this is very
grand for you because this is your own little fight—all by
yourself. In Richmond everybody says the General is to be
promoted Major-General. When he is, I shall attach myself
permanently to his staff. The life of inglorious idleness
here is perfectly awful. If you suppose I don't long for a
rich experience, you are mistaken. Give me the _whole_ of
it—victory, defeat, glory and misfortune, praise and even
censure (so it be _en plein air_)—anything, everything, except
stolid, purposeless, hopeless uselessness.
"The worst effect of this inaction is felt in this city, where
we can manufacture nothing for the soldiers, and only consume
in idleness what they need. A sort of court is still kept up
here—but the wives of our great generals are conspicuous for
their absence. Mrs. Lee is never seen at receptions. She and
her daughters spend their time knitting and sewing for the
soldiers, just as her great-grandmother, Martha Washington,
did in '76; and General Lee writes that these things are
needed. People here, having abundant time to find fault, do
not hesitate to say that our court ladies assume too much
state for revolutionary times. They had better be careful!
We won't guillotine them—at least not on the block (there
are other guillotines), but it would be lovelier if they
could realize their fine opportunities. Think of Florence
Nightingale! Mrs. Davis is very chary of the time she allots
us. If King Solomon were to call with the Queen of Sheba on
his arm the fraction of a moment after the closing minute of
her reception, he would not be admitted! I can just see you
saying, in that superior manner you see fit to assume with
me:—
"'But, Agnes dear! that is good form, you know, and belongs
to the etiquette of polite life.'
"Of course I know it! Did I say that Mrs. Davis should admit
King Solomon? _I_ wouldn't! I only tell you what other folks
think and say—but _ajew_, until I hear some more news and
gossip.
"Dearly again,
"Agnes."