JAMES RIVER AND FORTRESS MONROE.
The next day I proceeded to City Point by railroad,—riding in an old
patched-up car marked outside “_U. S. Military R. R._,” and furnished
inside with pine benches for seats and boards nailed up in place of
windows. There was nothing of interest on the road, which passed through
a region of stumps and undergrowth, with scarce an inhabitant, save the
few negro families that had taken up their abode in abandoned army huts.
City Point itself was no less dull. Built on high and rolling ground, at
the confluence of the Appomattox and the James,—a fine site for a
village,—it had nothing to show but an ugly cluster of rough wooden
buildings, such as spring up like fungus in the track of an army, and a
long line of government warehouses by the river.
I took the first steamer for Richmond; returning thence, in a few days,
down the James to Norfolk and Fortress Monroe. This voyage possesses an
interest which can merely be hinted at in a description. You are gliding
between shores rich with historical associations old and new. The mind
goes back to the time when Captain John Smith, with the expedition of
1607, sailed up this stream, which they named in honor of their king.
But you are diverted from those recollections by the landmarks of recent
famous events:—the ruins of ironclads below Richmond; the wrecks of
gun-boats; obstructions in the channel; Fort Darling, on a high bluff;
every commanding eminence crowned by a redoubt; Dutch Gap Canal; Deep
Bottom; Butler’s tower of observation; Malvern Hill, where the last
battle of McClellan’s retreat was fought,—a gentle elevation on the
north bank, marked by a small house and clumps of trees; Harrison’s
Landing,—a long pier extending out into the river; Jamestown, the first
settlement in Virginia,—now an island with a few huts only, and two or
three chimney-stacks of burnt houses,—looking as desolate as when first
destroyed, at the time of Bacon’s rebellion, near two hundred years ago;
Newport News below, a place with a few shanties, and a row of grinning
batteries; Hampton Roads, bristling and animated with shipping,—the
scene of the fight between the “Merrimac” and the “Monitor,” initiating
a new era in naval warfare; Hampton away on the north, with its
conspicuous square white hospital; Norfolk on the south, up the
Elizabeth River; the Rip-Raps, and Sewall’s Point; and, most astonishing
object of all, that huge finger of the military power, placed here to
hold these shores,—Fortress Monroe.
It was a wild, windy day; the anchored ships were tossing on the
white-capped waves; but the Fortress presented a beautiful calm picture,
as we approached it, with its proud flag careering in the breeze, its
white light-house on the beach, and the afternoon sunshine on its broad
walls and grassy ramparts.
Before the war, there was a large hotel between the Fortress and the
wharves, capable of accommodating a thousand persons. This was torn
down, because it obstructed the range of the guns; and a miserable
one-and-a-half story dining-saloon had been erected in its place. Here,
after much persuasion, I managed to secure a lodging under the low,
unfinished roof. The proprietor told me that the government, which owns
the land on which his house stands, exacted no payment for it, under
General Dix’s administration; but that General Butler, on coming into
power, immediately clapped on a smart rent of five hundred dollars a
month, which the landlord could pay, or take his house elsewhere. I
thought the circumstance characteristic.
The next morning, having a letter to General Miles, in command at the
Fortress, I obtained admission within the massy walls. I crossed the
moat on the drawbridge, and entered the gate opening under the heavy
bastions. I found myself in the midst of a village, on a level plain,
shaded by trees. A guard was given me, with orders to show me whatever I
wished to see, with one exception,—the interior of Mr. Jefferson Davis’s
private residence. This retired Rebel chief had been removed from the
casemate in which he was originally confined, and was occupying Carrol
Hall, a plain, three-story, yellow-painted building, built for officers’
quarters. I walked past the doors, and looked up at the modest
window-curtains, wondering what his thoughts were, sitting there,
meditating his fallen fortunes, with the flag of the nation he had
attempted to overthrow floating above his head, and its cannon frowning
on the ramparts around him. Did he enjoy his cigar, and read the morning
newspaper with interest?
The strength and vastness of Fortress Monroe astonishes one. It is the
most expensive fortress in the United States, having cost nearly two and
a half million-dollars. It is a mile around the ramparts. The walls are
fifty feet thick. The stone masonry which forms their outward face rises
twenty feet above high-water mark in the moat; and the grassy parapets
are built ten feet higher. There were only seven hundred men in the
fort,—a small garrison.
I was shown the great magazine which Arnold, one of the Booth
conspirators, proposed to blow up. His plan was to get a clerkship in
the ordnance office, which would afford him facilities for carrying out
his scheme. Had this succeeded, the terrible explosion that would have
ensued would not only have destroyed the Fortress, but not a building on
the Point would have been left standing.
I made the circuit of the ramparts, overlooking Hampton Roads on one
side, and the broad bay on the other. The sun was shining; the waves
were breaking on the shore; the band was playing proud martial airs; the
nation’s flag rolled voluptuously in the wind; steamers and white-sailed
ships were going and coming; the sky above was of deep blue, full of
peace. It was hard to realize that the immense structure on which I
walked, amid such a scene, was merely an engine of war.
While I was at General Miles’s head-quarters an interesting case of
pardoned rebellion was developed. Mr. Y——, a noted secessionist of
Warwick County, was one of those who had early pledged his life, his
fortune, and his sacred honor to the Confederate cause. He had commenced
his patriotic service by seizing at his wharf on the Warwick River a
private vessel which happened to be loading with lumber at the time when
the State seceded, and sending her as a prize up to Richmond; and he had
crowned his career by assisting Wirz in his official work at
Andersonville. During the war the government against which he was
fighting had taken the liberty of cutting a little lumber on this
gentleman’s abandoned lands. He had since become professedly loyal, paid
a visit to the good President at Washington, and returned to his estates
with his pardon in his pocket. The first thing he did was to drive off
the government contractor’s employees with threats of violence. He would
not even allow them to take away the government property he found on his
place, but threatened to shoot every man who approached for that
purpose. An officer came to head-quarters, when I was there, requesting
a guard of soldiers to protect the lives of the laborers during the
removal of this property.