VICISSITUDES OF THE WAR
My friend Agnes could soon record graver things than idleness or gossip.
On April 4, 1863, she wrote from Richmond:—
"MY DEAR: I hope you appreciate the fact that you are herewith
honored with a letter written in royal-red ink upon sumptuous
gilt-edged paper. There is not, at the present writing, one
inch of paper for sale in the capital of the Confederacy,
at all within the humble means of the wife of a Confederate
officer. Well is it for her—and I hope for you—that her
youthful admirers were few, and so her gorgeous cream-and-gold
album was only half filled with tender effusions. Out come
the blank leaves, to be divided between her friend and her
Colonel. Don't be alarmed at the color of the writing. I have
not yet dipped my goose-quill (there are no steel pens) in
the 'ruddy drops that visit my sad heart,' nor yet into good
orthodox red ink. There are fine oaks in the country, and that
noble tree bears a gall-nut filled with crimson sap. One lies
on my table, and into its sanguinary heart I plunge my pen.
"Something very sad has just happened in Richmond—something
that makes me ashamed of all my jeremiads over the loss of the
petty comforts and conveniences of life—hats, bonnets, gowns,
stationery, books, magazines, dainty food. Since the weather
has been so pleasant, I have been in the habit of walking in
the Capitol Square before breakfast every morning. Somehow
nothing so sets me up after a restless night as a glimpse of
the dandelions waking up from their dewy bed and the songs
of the birds in the Park. Yesterday, upon arriving, I found
within the gates a crowd of women and boys—several hundreds of
them, standing quietly together. I sat on a bench near, and
one of the number left the rest and took the seat beside me.
She was a pale, emaciated girl, not more than eighteen, with
a sunbonnet on her head, and dressed in a clean calico gown.
'I could stand no longer,' she explained. As I made room for
her, I observed that she had delicate features and large eyes.
Her hair and dress were neat. As she raised her hand to remove
her sunbonnet and use it for a fan, her loose calico sleeve
slipped up, and revealed the mere skeleton of an arm. She
perceived my expression as I looked at it, and hastily pulled
down her sleeve with a short laugh. 'This is all that's left
of me!' she said. 'It seems real funny, don't it?' Evidently
she had been a pretty girl—a dressmaker's apprentice, I judged
from her chafed forefinger and a certain skill in the lines
of her gown. I was encouraged to ask: 'What is it? Is there
some celebration?'
"'There _is_,' said the girl, solemnly; 'we celebrate our
right to live. We are starving. As soon as enough of us get
together we are going to the bakeries and each of us will take
a loaf of bread. That is little enough for the government to
give us after it has taken all our men.'
"Just then a fat old black Mammy waddled up the walk to
overtake a beautiful child who was running before her. 'Come
dis a way, honey,' she called, 'don't go nigh dem people,'
adding, in a lower tone, 'I's feared you'll ketch somethin'
fum dem po'-white folks. I _wonder_ dey lets 'em into de
Park.'
"The girl turned to me with a wan smile, and as she rose to
join the long line that had now formed and was moving, she
said simply, 'Good-by! I'm going to get something to eat!'
"'And I devoutly hope you'll get it—and plenty of it,' I
told her. The crowd now rapidly increased, and numbered, I
am sure, more than a thousand women and children. It grew and
grew until it reached the dignity of a mob—a bread riot. They
impressed all the light carts they met, and marched along
silently and in order. They marched through Cary Street and
Main, visiting the stores of the speculators and emptying
them of their contents. Governor Letcher sent the mayor to
read the Riot Act, and as this had no effect he threatened to
fire on the crowd. The city battalion then came up. The women
fell back with frightened eyes, but did not obey the order
to disperse. The President then appeared, ascended a dray,
and addressed them. It is said he was received at first with
hisses from the boys, but after he had spoken some little time
with great kindness and sympathy, the women quietly moved on,
taking their food with them. General Elzey and General Winder
wished to call troops from the camps to 'suppress the women,'
but Mr. Seddon, wise man, declined to issue the order. While
I write women and children are still standing in the streets,
demanding food, and the government is issuing to them rations
of rice.
"This is a frightful state of things. I am telling you of
it because _not one word_ has been said in the newspapers
about it. All will be changed, Judge Campbell tells me, if
we can win a battle or two (but, oh, at what a price!), and
regain the control of our railroads. Your General has been
magnificent. He has fed Lee's army all winter—I wish he could
feed our starving women and children.
"Dearly,
"AGNES."
My good Agnes reckoned without her host when she supposed General Pryor
would be rewarded for his splendid service on the Blackwater. He had
never ceased all winter to remind the Secretary of War of his promise
to give him a permanent command. He now felt that he had earned it.
He had fought many battles, acquitting himself with distinction in
all,—Williamsburg, Seven Pines, Mechanicsville, Gaines's Mill, Frazier's
Farm, the Second Manassas, and Sharpsburg, besides the fight on the
Blackwater.
He now wrote, April 6, 1863, an almost passionate appeal to the
President himself, imploring that he be sent into active service, and
not be "denied participation in the struggles that are soon to determine
the destinies of my country. If I know myself," he added, "it is not the
vanity of command that moves me to this appeal. A single and sincere
wish to contribute somewhat to the success of our cause impels me to
entreat that I may be assigned to duty. That my position is not the
consequence of any default of mine you will be satisfied by the enclosed
letter from General Lee." The letter was followed by new promises. It
was supplemented by General Pryor's fellow-officers, who not only urged
that the country should not lose his services, but designated certain
regiments which might easily be assigned to him. The President wrote
courteous letters in reply, always repeating assurances of esteem,
etc. The _Richmond Examiner_ and other papers now began to notice the
matter and present General Pryor as arrayed with the party against the
administration. This, being untrue, he contradicted. On March 17, 1863,
the President wrote to him the following:—
"GENERAL ROGER A. PRYOR;
"GENERAL: Your gratifying letter on the 6th inst. referring
to an article in the _Examiner_ newspaper which seems to
associate you with the opposition to the administration, has
been received.
"I did not see the article in question, but I am glad it has
led to an expression so agreeable. The good opinion of one so
competent to judge of public affairs, and who has known me so
long and closely, is a great support in the midst of many and
arduous trials.
"Very respectfully and truly yours,
"JEFFERSON DAVIS."
Among the letters sent to Mr. Davis in General Pryor's behalf was one
from General Lee and one from General Jackson, both of which unhappily
remained in the President's possession, no copies having been kept by
General Pryor.
As time went on, my husband waited with such patience as he could
command. Finally he resigned his commission as brigadier-general, and
also his seat in Congress, and entered General Fitz Lee's cavalry as a
private soldier. His resignation was held a long time by the President
"in the hope it would be reconsidered," and repeatedly General Pryor
was "assured of the President's esteem," etc. General Jackson, General
Longstreet, General A. P. Hill, General D. H. Hill, General Wilcox,
General George Pickett, General Beauregard, were all his friends. Some
of them had, like General Johnston and General McClellan, similar
experience. It was a bitter hour for me when my General followed me
to the Amelia Springs with news that he had entered the cavalry as a
private. "Stay with me and the children," I implored.
"No," he said; "I had something to do with bringing on this war. I must
give myself to Virginia. She needs the help of all her sons. If there
are too many brigadier-generals in the service,—it may be so,—certain
it is there are not enough private soldiers."
The Divinity that "rules our ends, rough hew them as we may," was
guiding him. I look back with gratitude to these circumstances,—then so
hard to bear,—circumstances to which, I am persuaded, I owe my husband's
life.
General Fitz Lee welcomed him in hearty fashion:
"HEADQUARTERS, August 26, 1863.
"Honorable, General, or Mr? How shall I address you? Damn it,
there's no difference! Come up to see me. Whilst I regret the
causes that induced you to resign your position, I am glad,
really, that the country has not lost your active services,
and that your choice to serve her has been cast in one of my
regiments.
"Very respectfully,
"FITZ LEE."
As a common soldier in the cavalry service, General Pryor was assigned
the duties of his position, from not one of which did he ever excuse
himself.
On May 3 General Lee had offered thanks to Almighty God for a great
victory at Chancellorsville.
On May 4, the date of Agnes's letter, news came that General Jackson
had been seriously wounded and his arm amputated. On May 10 the General
died, and we were all plunged into the deepest grief. By every man,
woman, and child in the Confederacy this good man and great general was
mourned as never man was mourned before. From the moment of his death
the tide of fortune seemed to turn. Henceforth there would be only
disaster and defeat. In losing General Jackson our dear commander lost
his right arm. But this only inspired him to greater and more aggressive
action.
He decided to take his army into Pennsylvania, and after entering that
state, on June 27, he issued his famous order, reminding one of General
Washington's similar order from Pennsylvania, 1777:—
"GENERAL ORDER NO. 73. FROM THE HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF NORTHERN
VIRGINIA
"The commanding general has observed the conduct of the
troops upon the march, and confidently anticipates results
commensurate with the high spirit they have manifested....
Their conduct has, with few exceptions, been in keeping with
their character as soldiers, and entitles them to approbation
and praise.
"There have, however, been instances of forgetfulness, on
the part of some, that they have in keeping the yet unsullied
reputation of the army, and that the duties exacted of us by
civilization and Christianity are not less obligatory in the
country of the enemy than in our own.
"The commanding general considers that no greater disgrace
could befall the army, and through it our whole people, than
the perpetration of the barbarous outrages upon the innocent
and defenceless, and the wanton destruction of private
property, which have marked the course of the enemy in our
country. Such proceedings not only disgrace the perpetrators
and all connected with them, but are subversive of the
discipline and efficiency of the army, and destructive of the
ends of our present movements. It must be remembered that we
make war only on armed men, that we cannot take vengeance for
the wrongs our people have suffered without lowering ourselves
in the eyes of all whose abhorrence has been excited by the
atrocities of our enemy, and offending against Him to whom
vengeance belongeth, without whose favor and support must all
prove vain."
Washington, Lee, and McClellan were not alone in their ideas of
civilized and Christian warfare.
Eighty-four years before this time there was a war in this same country.
It was a rebellion, too, and a nobleman led the troops of Great Britain
through the country to subdue the rebellion. The people through whose
land he marched were bitterly hostile. They shot his foraging parties,
sentinels, and stragglers; they fired upon him from every wood.
On January 28, 1781, this order was issued from camp near Beatty's Ford:—
"Lord Cornwallis has so often experienced the zeal and good
will of the army that he has not the smallest doubt that the
officers and soldiers will most cheerfully submit to the ill
conveniences that must naturally attend war, so remote from
water, carriage, and the magazines of the army. The supply of
rum for a time will be absolutely impossible, and that of meal
very uncertain. It is needless to point out to the officers
the necessity of preserving the strictest discipline, and of
preventing the oppressed people from suffering violence by
the hands from whom they are taught to look for protection."
Again:—
"HEADQUARTERS, CAUSLER'S PLANTATION, "February 27, 1781.
"Lord Cornwallis is highly displeased that several houses have
been set on fire to-day during the march—a disgrace to the
army—and he will punish to the utmost severity any person or
persons who shall be found guilty of committing so disgraceful
an outrage. His Lordship requests the commanding officers
of the corps will endeavor to find the persons who set fire
to the houses this day.... Any officer who looks on with
indifference and does not do his utmost to prevent shameful
marauding will be considered in a more criminal light than
the persons who commit these scandalous crimes."
Again:—
"HEADQUARTERS, FREELANDS, February 28, 1781.
"A watch found by the regiment of Bose. The owner may have it
from the adjutant of that regiment upon proving property."
Another:—
"SMITH'S PLANTATION, March 1, 1781.
"BRIGADE ORDERS.—A woman having been robbed of a watch, a
black silk handkerchief, a gallon of brandy, and a shirt, and
as by description, by a soldier of the guards, the camp and
every man's kit is to be immediately searched for the same,
by the officer of the brigade."
And so it is that every circumstance of life is an opportunity for a
noble spirit. When we "let slip the dogs of war," some men find excuse
for license and cruelty, others for the exercise of self-restraint
and compassion. Admiral Porter tells a story which may illustrate
the strange "point of view" in the minds of some brave men upon the
legitimate conduct of war.
"The exploits of the army in foraging," said the Admiral, "afforded
matter for much amusement among the officers at Vicksburg. At
Bruensburg, General Grant made his headquarters in the spring of 1863.
Bruensburg and the surrounding country was the great depot for live
stock, grain, etc., and the soldiers' lines seemed to have fallen in
pleasant places. _Foraging was not prohibited_; in fact the soldiers
were cautioned to save the government rations for an emergency, so
that the squealing of pigs, the bleating of calves and sheep, and the
cackling of poultry were common sounds in camp."
As an illustration of the wholesale robbery of the peaceful citizens
Admiral Porter tells of an appeal made to General Grant by an old
man, long past the age to bear arms, who pushed aside the flaps of the
General's tent and thrust in his head. In his hand he held a rope to
which was attached a miserable mule, minus one eye. He told the General,
in the poor-white's vernacular, of his nice little farm, well stocked
"with the finest lot of chickens, turkeys, pigs, an' sheep as ever you
seen," and that the Yankee soldiers had stolen everything except the
"ole muel and one goose."
"Here, Rawlins, attend to this man," said the General, and walked away.
"What do you expect me to do?" inquired General Rawlins. "How are you
going to find out who did all you complain of?"
"Well, I _know_ who did it," said the old fellow; "it's one of Gin'ral
A. J. Smith's rigiments. I know the sargint what led 'em on. He
belongs to the Thirteenth Iowy, an' he kin skin a hog quicker'n greased
lightnin'!"
Just then General Smith walked in the tent, and the complaint was laid
before him.
"They weren't my men, sir," said General Smith. "I know my boys too
well. They would never have left that mule and goose! No, sir, my boys
don't do things that way; and I advise you, old man, to go back and keep
your eye on your goose and mule."
The old man turned to gaze on his beloved mule. It was gone! A soldier
stood at the end of the rope!
General Smith glanced proudly around. "Ah, Rawlins," he said, "those
must have been my men after all. If I could only hear they had eaten
the goose, I should be sure of it."
The story does not follow the aged man to his desolate cabin; but it
followed the Admiral as an _amusing_ story for many an evening around
the punch-bowl.
Among the men arrayed against the South in battle were many worthy
descendants of the men who achieved their independence in 1775-1781,
and who then fought shoulder to shoulder with the South.
"They were a brave, self-reliant, patriotic race, and in all the
characteristics of manliness, perseverance, fortitude, and courage,
were the equals of any race that ever lived." It was from these men,
native-born Americans of the North and West, that many a persecuted
woman in Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina received help and
restitution of property. But war brutalizes mean men. The few cannot
control the many.
War, wicked, cruel war, knows no mercy, no justice. War is the dreadful
crime of the world. Against war prayer should ascend day and night until
it shall cease forever. It is not right that it should be classed with
"pestilence and famine" in our prayers. It should have an hour—a daily
hour—to itself, when old men and women, young men and maidens, and
little children should implore God to make wars to cease from the fair
world He has created.
The refugees who came to us from exposed districts within the enemy's
lines thrilled our souls with horror. We heard these stories from the
valley of Virginia and from Norfolk. Liberty of speech in child or woman
was sternly punished. At Norfolk a clergyman, the Rev. Dr. Armstrong,
had been put in the chain gang and compelled to work on the streets
because of disrespectful allusion to the presence of Federal troops.
We trembled at these recitals; but we never dreamed the war would come
to us. At twilight, when the air was clear and still, we could hear
the booming of the heavy guns of the ironclads on James River; but
McClellan had been unable to take Richmond, and nobody would want little
Petersburg.
In July, General Lee fought and lost the great battle of Gettysburg,
which plunged our state into mourning and lamentation. Never can the
world read with dry eyes of the charge of Pickett's brigade and the
manner in which it was met. "Decry war as we may and ought," says
Rhodes in his "History," "'breathes there the man with soul so dead' who
would not thrill with emotion to claim for his countrymen the men who
made that charge and the men who met it? General Lee bore the disaster
magnificently. An officer, attempting to place on other shoulders some
portion of the blame, General Lee said solemnly, '_All this has been_
MY _fault_—it is _I_ that have lost this fight, and you must all help
me out of it in the best way you can.'"
The Federal loss in this battle, killed, wounded, and captured, was
23,003, the Confederate 20,451—making a total of 43,454 good and true
men lost, in one battle, to their country. The emblem of mourning hung
at many a door among our friends in Richmond and Petersburg. Close upon
this disaster came news of the fall of Vicksburg.
On July 3d my General (this was before he resigned his commission) was
in Richmond serving on a court-martial. In the evening he called upon
Mr. and Mrs. Davis, and was told the President was not receiving, but
that Mrs. Davis would be glad to see him. The weather was intensely hot,
and my husband felt he must not inflict a long visit; but when he rose
to leave, Mrs. Davis begged him to remain, and seemed averse from being
left alone. After a few minutes the President came in, weary, silent,
and depressed. The news from Gettysburg sufficiently accounted for his
melancholy aspect.
Presently a dear little boy entered in his night-robe, and kneeling
beside his father's knee repeated his evening prayer of thankfulness,
and of supplication for God's blessing on the country. The President
laid his hand on the boy's head and fervently responded, "Amen."
The scene recurred vividly, in the light of future events, to my
husband's memory. With the coming day came the news of the surrender
of Vicksburg,—news of which Mr. Davis had been forewarned the evening
before,—and already the Angel of Death was hovering near, to enfold the
beautiful boy and bear him away from a world of trouble.
I had taken my young family to a watering place in the county of Amelia,
and there a few homeless women like myself were spending the months of
July and August. Everything was so sad there was no heart in any one
for gayety of any kind; but one evening the proprietor proposed that
the ball room be lighted and a solitary fiddler, "Bozeman,"—who was
also the barber,—be installed in the musicians' seat and show us what he
could do. Young feet cannot resist a good waltz or polka, and the floor
was soon filled with care-forgetting maidens—there were no men except
the proprietor and the fiddler. Presently a telegram was received by
the former. We all huddled together under the chandelier to read it.
Vicksburg had fallen! The gallant General Pemberton had been starved
into submission. Surely and swiftly the coil was tightening around us.
Surely and swiftly should we, too, be starved into submission.