feet, tied the shoes together, handed them to the boy, and with his own
clean handkerchief wiped away the tears. Lifting the child in his arms
he carried him home, some three blocks farther on. We went our way and
as I walked beside my Soldier in his gray uniform cloaked with the glory
and the gloom of the world's greatest battle, I felt prouder of the
simple sweet nature offering sympathy and aid to "one of the least of
these" than of all the valor of the soldier on the field.
Only a few days before he had ridden from Gettysburg to Richmond, cheer
after cheer following him along the way. Men, women and children were at
the roadside to welcome him and hang garlands on his horse. He had been
the central figure in a scene so supreme that it needed not victory to
crown it with glory. Yet not the flowers of love nor the echo of the
cannon's thunder, the grave duties nor the heavy sorrows that were laid
upon him, could so fill his heart as to leave no room for the cry of
suffering from an unknown child.
In September of that year my Soldier married me. He had confided in
General Longstreet and asked for a furlough. The Corps Commander replied
that they were not granting furloughs. "But," he said, with that twinkle
in his eye so well remembered by all who knew General Lee's "old War
Horse," "I might detail you for special duty and you could stop off and
be married." So my Soldier was detailed for "special duty."
Unfortunately, the Federals south of the line were at that time
worshipping exclusively at the shrine of Mars. For them Cupid was
absolutely dethroned. So much opposed were they to our marriage and so
insistent in their efforts to induce my Soldier to pay them a prolonged
visit instead of wasting his time in wedding frivolities that it became
necessary for me to cross the lines. This I did with the assistance of
my uncle, Doctor John T. Phillips, who took my father and me under his
protection, smuggled us across, my father driving a load of fodder in
which my trunks were concealed. My mother could not leave my little baby
brother, now Dr. Edwin F. Corbell, an eminent and beloved physician of
North Carolina, to go with me, so I was accompanied by one of her
friends as chaperon. I quaked inwardly when we met some Federal
cavalrymen but kept up a brave front and, recognizing Dr. Phillips, the
riders allowed his permit to cover the party and we passed on our way.
At Waverley Station we were met by my uncle, Colonel J. J. Phillips, and
his wife, and by my Soldier's brother and aunt and uncle, Miss Olivia
and Mr. Andrew Johnston. With them we went on to Petersburg and on
September 15, 1863, in St. Paul's Church, the marriage took place. We
left for Richmond amid the salute of guns, hearty cheers, the chimes of
bells and the music of bands and bugles.
As by that time the food supply of the South was reduced to narrow
limits, salt being procured by digging up and boiling the earth from
under the smokehouses, browned sweet potatoes cut into bits and toasted
serving for coffee, and lumps of sugar being sold at high prices for the
hospital fund, it might be thought that our prospect of finding a
banquet awaiting us in Richmond was not brilliant. But friends and
relations of my Soldier had exerted themselves to do him honor, and the
result was such as had not been seen in Virginia for many a day. It was
sora season and so generous was the supply that the feast was afterward
known as the "wedding sora-supper." The birds had been killed at night
with paddles, for the South was not wasting her small store of
ammunition on sora with so many more important targets in sight. The
birds, killed at Curl's Neck on the James River, and thousands of beaten
biscuit, gallons of terrapin stew, and turkeys boned and made into salad
by the neighbors and the old plantation servants under the supervision
of Mr. and Mrs. Sims, the overseer and his wife at Turkey Island, my
Soldier's old colonial home, were sent us as bridal presents. Mrs.
Robert E. Lee's gift was a fruit-cake, the making of which she had
superintended, and Bishop Dudley's mother sent us a black fruit-cake
that had been put away for her own golden wedding.
The only men in civilian evening dress were Mr. Davis and his Cabinet
and a few ministers and very old men, for even then we were "robbing the
cradle and the grave" to recruit the Army, and the women were
sacrificing everything to help. Through kindness of friends in Norfolk a
handsome bridal dress, imported for me by Mrs. Boykin, had been smuggled
across the line. It was so unusual that after Mrs. Davis had greeted me
she looked in astonishment at my costume and said:
"Child, where did you get these clothes?"
Turning to the General, smiling, Mr. Davis asked:
"Where did you get the little lady in the clothes?"
On the other side of the room was the editor of the _Richmond Examiner_,
who had been mercilessly assailing the administration. Mrs. Davis called
her husband's attention to him but Mr. Davis said:
"Let us not look that way, my dear. We have come to-night to see
beautiful things and think pleasant thoughts."
The General's sister invited the President and Mrs. Davis to the
dining-room.
"What a time you must have had plucking them," said Mr. Davis when he
saw the sora.
"A part of the gift was the preparation of them, even to the last shade
of brownness."
My memory of Mr. Davis that evening lingers with special significance
because it was the last time that I ever saw real happiness in his
earnest face. He was just a free, gallant gentleman that night. As he
said, he had come to enjoy. Clouds, public and private, were gathering,
and soon enough there was no longer the possibility of forgetting. I saw
him often afterward in sadness, but never again with the light of joy on
his face.
Perhaps there was never anywhere else so varied a collection of curios
for the adornment of the person as I had assembled for a trousseau. I
had gowns remodeled from court robes more than a century old, relics of
grandmothers and great-grandmothers; frocks of home-woven material,
striped with vegetable dyes gathered from the woods, and trimmed with a
passementerie made of various kinds of seeds, such as canteloupe, laces
knit from fine-spun flax, tatting and crocheted trimmings, and buttons
carved from peach-stones.
One of my bonnets was made of the lacy lining that grows on the inside
of a gourd, called my dish-cloth bonnet because the soft fabric was used
also for the less ornamental kitchen purpose. In the absence of the more
widely known varieties of millinery I used the silky milkweed balls for
white roses and made bunches of grapes from picked cotton covered with
fleek-skin and tinted. A bonnet of gray straw, plaited and dyed by the
servants, poke-shaped and with pink roses inside the brim, was
especially becoming. My bridal present from my pastor's wife was a very
wide collar of tatting and embroidery.
The wedding robe left nothing to be desired, for it was of white satin
and exquisite shimmering lace, made at a center of fashion. In passing I
may remark that the possession of a real wedding dress, new and stylish,
was a distinction that carried with it a sense of obligation to the
community at large, and my bridal gown graced a number of weddings after
my own. It was last worn by one of the most beautiful girls of the
Confederacy who, a few days later, exchanged its snowy folds for the
sables of widowhood when the bridegroom was brought home dead from the
battlefield. Thus tragically shadowed the dress around which clustered
so many happy memories, so many tender sentiments, and so many sorrowful
recollections, was laid away with reverent hands, never again to glimmer
with soft sheen through the misty folds of the bridal veil.
XVI
BUTLER BOTTLED UP
My Soldier was at this time assigned to the Department of North
Carolina, with headquarters at Petersburg, Virginia, commanding all that
part of Virginia between James River on the north and Cape Fear River on
the south, reaching eastward to the Federal lines around Suffolk and
westward to the Black Water and Chowan, including all the troops in that
region.
After our bridal visits to kinspeople we returned to Petersburg where we
found that our friends, in spite of the restrictions of war, had
arranged beautiful rooms for us, decorating them luxuriantly with
flowers and fitting them up handsomely.
Among the many who helped to make my life happy in Petersburg was Major
Charles Pickett, the General's Assistant Adjutant General (the "Little
Major," as he was affectionately called by the soldiers). When my
Soldier introduced him to me as his "little brother" he immediately
became my "little brother," too, and thus he was in my life and my heart
through all the years that he remained on earth. He walked slightly lame
from a wound received at Frazier's Farm. So anxious was he to get into
the fight that he disobeyed orders to report for staff duty in Richmond
and went into the battle instead. When he was shot he begged his
comrades not to carry him off the field but to leave him his flag that
he might die under its folds. But he lived through what was known among
the men as "the battle the little Major fought down at Frazier's Farm,"
and thus I came into possession of "my little brother." Soon afterward
he married Miss Elizabeth Smith of Washington, and brought us a dear
sister who was my companion in the rare sunshine and the many storms of
war.
All this region was historic and held thrilling memories of the battles
of bygone days. As we rode over the ground we talked of the old-time
conflicts and my Soldier said that he would have been glad to be in all
wars that were for a just cause. I had been taught that the Mexican war
was without such justification, and asked his opinion.
"At West Point," he replied, "some of us were reprimanded for expressing
a doubt of its justice. I was one of them. After we were in we had to
fight it out and as it must be done I wanted to do my share."
It was while my Soldier was stationed at Petersburg that the expedition
to North Carolina was projected, involving Newbern and Plymouth. The
military history of the movement is given in "Pickett and His Men," but
there are certain personal features of the expedition which have been
recorded in my memory, for I would not be left behind when the journey
to the old North State was made. I went as far as the house of a friend
on the Newbern road.
The night was bleak and frigid; we were nearing our stopping place. My
Soldier, always solicitous for his men, was discussing with his staff
the discomfort to which they would be subjected and the impossibility of
alleviating their suffering.
"Poor fellows!" he said. "They will be almost frozen and no wood, and
General Lee will not allow us to burn even a single rail. There will be
the devil to pay and I powerless to help."
Observing that I had awakened and heard his last remark he turned
reprovingly to Captain Bright, saying:
"Bright, how dare you use that gentleman's name in the presence of my
wife?"
"Beg your pardon, Sister," said Captain Bright, "I thought you were
asleep."
Whatever relation my Soldier might bear to his staff officers, I was
always "Sister."
"Don't you think I know your voice, my dear, from Captain Bright's?" I
inquired.
"No, little one, you could not possibly know my voice in connection with
such words, and you could not think that I would use such language as
Bright uses."
"Sister," said Captain Bright, "before the General was married he would
not allow any of us to swear at all. He said he would do the swearing
for the whole division. Now that he is married we have not only to do
all our own swearing but his, too."
Had it not been for the versatile imagination of Colonel Floweree, the
Ananias of the Seventh Virginia Regiment, my Soldier and I would
probably have fared badly. The hotel was impossible and the community
was of Union sentiment. In our connection with the Southern Army we
could expect no toleration. In this dilemma Colonel Floweree undertook
to grapple with the situation. He learned that the most beautiful and
luxurious home in the village was owned by an old Baptist, a power in
the church and in the community, who was known to be not unwilling to
make an occasional sacrifice of political opinions to religious
fraternity. Colonel Floweree called upon the good brother and, with an
intonation that he could have learned nowhere but from the pious and
hardshell Baptists of that region and period, said:
"My dear Brother, I know what a good Baptist you are and how ready you
are to help all your brethren in the Lord. I have my good General,
Brother Pickett, out here with his dear pious wife, Sister Pickett, both
good Baptists, and I beg you to extend to them the hospitality of your
home and entertain them as best you can for the sake of brotherly love."
"If I do," said the old man hesitatingly, "the Yankees may burn my
house; but I must take the chances, I cannot let my brethren suffer.
Yes, let the good brother and sister come in and share what I have."
We were received with fraternal hospitality, our host shaking hands with
us solemnly, saying, "How do you do, Brother Pickett? How are you,
Sister Pickett?" in a voice that invested us with the sanctity of the
church.
I was interested to observe that our host had but one eye, his wife was
cross-eyed, and their daughter was cock-eyed. These optical phenomena
were afterward scientifically explained by our Baptist brother.
"I was engaged to a cross-eyed girl," he said, "and my people objected
to the marriage. I was about to give it up when one day I was cutting
wood and the end of the stick flew up and hit me in the eye and put it
out. It was the judgment of the Lord and I repented and married my
cross-eyed girl. Then when our girl was born the hand of the accusing
angel touched her and she was cock-eyed to keep me in mind of my sin."
Petersburg, the gate to Richmond, was the weakest point of the
Confederacy, and my Soldier had explained its position to the
authorities in Richmond and asked that provision for its defense should
be made. His warning disregarded, he wrote a confidential letter on the
subject to General Lee, who sent an officer to Richmond, urging
immediate action. Still nothing was done and when, on the 5th of May,
Butler with thirty thousand troops moved upon the town, which was
defended by only six hundred men (two hundred of whom were ineffective),
the government and the country were as much surprised as if they had
never heard of the danger.
Though my Soldier had been ordered a few days before to report to the
Army of Northern Virginia, he could not leave Petersburg to destruction.
In defiance of orders he remained in the beleaguered city. The day after
the attack a part of the South Carolina brigade came in and, being
placed at Walthall Junction, about six miles from Petersburg, drove back
Butler's advance column. Wise's Virginia brigade arrived on the seventh
and was sent toward City Point. Then three brigades of Pickett's
division began coming in as fast as the crippled express could bring
them, and we had eleven pieces of artillery.
We women carried the dispatches, cooked the food and took it to the men
at the guns. At train time we would go to the station and send up cheer
after cheer of welcome, hoping to blind the Federals to the fact that
the cars, returning from their short trip to the country, brought in
only the half-starved railroad men. The roar of cannon and the shrieks
of shot and shell filled our ears day and night. During the entire week,
until Petersburg was safe and General Grant had sent his famous telegram
to Mr. Lincoln, "Pickett has bottled up Butler at Petersburg," my
Soldier scarcely slept, and I saw him only when I carried to him on the
lines a dispatch or his bread and soup and coffee. This telegram so
angered Butler that he came up the James River, out of the line of
battle, at great expense to the United States Government, and sacked and
burned my Soldier's beautiful ancestral home.
The city council of Petersburg voted a resolution of thanks to my
Soldier for his brave defense of the city. The people wished to express
their gratitude by a gift to me. It was impossible to buy a service of
silver, so each brought a fork, a salt-spoon, a pitcher, as the case
might be, until more than a thousand pieces were given to me. One woman,
having no silver because she had been compelled to sell her household
service, brought a pretty gilt-bordered cup. The gifts of affection were
of far greater value to me than the most elegant and costly new set of
silver could have been and were carefully cherished until, in the fire
which marked the surrender of Richmond, they, with all my bridal
presents and everything of value, were burned in the warehouse in
Richmond where they had been placed for safe-keeping.
One morning in May in the early dawn we rode out of the city of sweet
memories and days of terror, pausing to look back at the far-off Church
of Saint Paul, new-lit by the rising sun, where we had plighted our
troth.
XVII
ON THE LINES
Our next station was on the "Bermuda Hundred" lines near the heart of
the storm, but there were rifts of sunshine to break the gloom.
A tent was our first home and later a log cabin. Major Charles Pickett's
log cabin near our own had two rooms, a degree of splendor to which no
one else attained.
We had friends--such friends as war binds together with links that can
never be broken. The wives of many of the officers were there. The few
new books we had were exchanged until they were read through and through
and almost learned by heart. If one of us fortunately came into
possession of a month-old paper it went the rounds and was more eagerly
perused than are the morning journals now, just off the press with the
news of the hour fresh and hot. We visited, walked, talked, rode and
danced half the night away lest it should be over-long and bring
darksome dreams. How could we live on the rim of a volcano if we could
not dance around its crater?
At the Howlett House not all our evenings were given over to pleasure.
The Federals had a theory that business should come first, and would
thrust their views upon us at inopportune times, frequently arousing us
from slumber. These nocturnal attacks were veritable scenes from the
Inferno displayed against the black curtain of night--swords flashing
through the darkness, guns thundering across the silence that had
brooded over the earth, weapons clashing, the roar of orders sweeping
over the field--all the demoniac sounds of battle crashing through a
blackness that enshrouded our world. He who has looked upon such a scene
needs no fiend of darkness to roll back for him the heavy curtain that
hides the world of demons. Even the bravest of the brave doubted their
courage in a night attack.
After one of these encounters when the wounded were brought in I saw my
Soldier stop beside two of them, one a Federal and the other a
Confederate. Pointing to the northern soldier he said:
"Please attend first to our guest, doctor."
Then he gave his handkerchief to serve as a tourniquet to stop the
bleeding of the Federal soldier's wound.
It was at the Bermuda Hundred line that I first saw General Grant. My
Soldier and I were riding along looking at the Federal gunboats and
monitors not more than a few hundred yards from our headquarters when I
saw a puff of smoke drifting, scattering, a mere shadow as it floated
higher and was lost against the blue sky.
"Look, look!" I exclaimed. "Isn't that beautiful?"
"Dangerously beautiful. It is from a shell. The enemy are firing over
there. Come, dear; whip up your horse and let me get you out of this as
soon as I can."
"No, indeed," I said. "I'm not a bit afraid, and if I were do you think
I would let Pickett's men see me run?"
"Come, dear, please! You are in danger, useless danger, and that is not
bravery."
The soldiers did not seem to agree with him, for Corse's Brigade sent up
cheer after cheer as we passed. Captain Smith, just then riding across
the field, stopped to speak to us.
"The Federals are testing some guns, I think, for the entertainment of
visitors," he explained, "and are not firing at us. They are over there
to the right of that oak." He handed us his field glass. "Mrs. Grant is
standing between those two short, stout men. The one at the left with a
cigar in his mouth is Grant. The shorter, stouter one on the right is
Ingalls, Grant's Quartermaster-General."
"Yes, that's Rufus. See him laugh, the old rascal!" said my Soldier, a
glint of the old-time affection shining in his eyes and vibrating in his
voice. He, Grant and Ingalls were old friends, having been comrades in
Mexico and the West. "But come, let's ride on."
"Yes," said Captain Smith, "it is not safe here. I would take Mrs.
Pickett away. Turn to the left there into that clump of trees."
"Unfortunately, Captain, Mrs. Pickett outranks me; she will not go."
"Permit me, please, Mrs. Pickett, to add my entreaties to those of the
General. It really is not safe here."
"Let me get down and try our guns, too, and then I'll go," I answered.
"Not for the world," exclaimed my Soldier. "They are not shooting at us.
Mrs. Grant is so kind-hearted that she would not approve of their
shooting in this direction if she thought it would interrupt our morning
ride. Besides, she is exceedingly cross-eyed and does not know
directions."
The Captain saluted my Soldier, lifted his hat to me, suggestively
pointed to the grove on our left and rode away. I watched him, admiring
his fine horsemanship. Beginning to feel remorseful for my obstinate
resistance to his appeal I was about to turn off to the safe path when
one of the aimless cannon balls swept across the field and I saw the
Captain's horse careering madly along bearing a headless body.
Impulsively I sprang from my horse and ran and picked up the poor head,
and I solemnly believe that the dying eyes looked their thanks as the
last glimmering of life flickered out. Those pathetically grateful eyes
have looked at me many times through the mists of vanished years and
with them has come the booming of the guns that threw black bars across
the sunshine of that far away morning.
The memory of General Grant often came to me afterward associated with
that awful sight following my first view of him across the water where
he stood peacefully smoking on the slope. The fact that he remembered
the old friendship with my Soldier was impressed upon me many times
after my view of him through field glasses.
Among the friends whom I often met at this station was General Robert E.
Lee. It has been said that our Commanding General never knew or cared
what he ate, and it is true that he did not, in comparison with the
welfare of his soldiers. Once when he and his staff lunched with us I
gave them one of our famous Brunswick stews, made of chicken, a slice of
pork, corn, tomatoes and Lima beans, with bay-leaf and onion seasoning,
and cooked slowly. It was particularly good this day, as I had received
a gift of some smuggled salt and could afford to use it lavishly, and
General Lee said the stew was the most delicious thing he had ever
tasted. I had just made some walnut pickles of which I was very proud.
He praised them and told me that in his house he had them many years old
and that the "older they became the better they were."
"But, you know," he said, "I never eat anything good without thinking of
the soldiers and their privations."
One evening in Richmond my Soldier and I were invited to spend the
evening with Senator and Mrs. Clement C. Clay, and while there General
Lee called. We had ice cream made of buttermilk and sweetened with
sorghum, and lemonade made with lemons from the conservatory of our
hostess. She remarked that she had been saving those lemons for the
soldiers in the hospital but that she had more which she would give to
them. "If you will be sure not to forget the soldiers," said General
Lee, "I will enjoy this lemonade."
The General called me "Sweet Nansemond" because I came from Nansemond
County, as did the famous sweet potatoes which the hucksters hawked
about the streets, calling out, "Nansemonds! Sweet Nansemonds!" and I
rather resented this vegetable suggestion, not liking to be associated
with potatoes even in the mind of General Lee.