The first winter of the war was spent by our family in Richmond
, where we found lodgings in a dismal rookery familiarly dubbed by its new occupants “The Castle of Otranto
It was the old-time Clifton Hotel, honeycombed by subterranean passages, and crowded to its limits with refugees like ourselves from country homes within or near the enemy's lines — or “fugees,” as we were all called.
For want of any common sitting-room, we took possession of what had been a doctor's office, a few steps distant down the hilly street, fitting it up to the best of our ability; and there we received our friends, passing many merry hours.
In rainy weather we reached it by an underground passage-way from the hotel, an alley through the catacombs; and many a dignitary of camp or state will recall those “Clifton
Already the pinch of war was felt in the commissariat; and we had recourse occasionally to a contribution supper, or “Dutch
treat,” when the guests brought brandied peaches, boxes of sardines, French prunes, and bags of biscuit, while the hosts contributed only a roast turkey or a ham, with knives and forks.
Democratic feasts those were, where major-generals and “high privates” met on an equal footing.
The hospitable old town was crowded with the families of officers and members of the Government
One house was made to do the work of several, many of the wealthy citizens generously giving up their superfluous space to receive the new-comers.
The only public event of note was the inauguration of Mr. Davis
of the “Permanent Government” of the Confederate States
, which we viewed by the courtesy of Mr. John R. Thompson
, the State Librarian
, from one of the windows of the Capitol
, where, while waiting for the exercises to begin, we read Harper's Weekly and other Northern papers, the latest per underground express.
That 22d of February was a day of pouring rain, and the concourse of umbrellas in the square beneath us had the effect of an immense mushroom-bed.
As the bishop and
The old Clifton Hotel.|
Front and rear views of the Virginia armory, Richmond.
The armory, which was completed in 1805, was garrisoned during the war by a company known as the State Guard.
The building was destroyed in the fire that followed the evacuation in April, 1865. |
the president-elect came upon the stand, there was an almost painful hush in the crowd.
All seemed to feel the gravity of the trust our chosen leader was assuming.
When he kissed the book a shout went up; but there was no elation visible as the people slowly dispersed.
And it was thought ominous afterward, when the story was repeated, that, as Mrs. Davis
, who had a Virginia negro for coachman, was driven to the inauguration, she observed the carriage went at a snail's pace and was escorted by four negro men in black clothes, wearing white cotton gloves and walking solemnly, two on either side of the equipage; she asked the coachman what such a spectacle could mean, and was answered, “Well, ma'am, you tole me to arrange everything as it should be; and this is the way we do in Richmond
at funerals and sich-like.”
promptly ordered the outwalkers away, and with them departed all the pomp and circumstance the occasion admitted of. In the mind of a negro, everything of dignified ceremonial is always associated with a funeral.
About March 1st martial law was proclaimed in Richmond
, and a fresh influx of refugees from Norfolk
claimed shelter there.
When the spring opened, as the spring does open in Richmond
, with a sudden glory of green leaves, magnolia blooms, and flowers among the grass, our spirits rose after the depression of the latter months.
If only to shake off the atmosphere of doubts and fears engendered by the long winter of disaster and uncertainty, the coming activity of arms was welcome!
Personally speaking, there was vast improvement in our situation, since we had been fortunate enough to find
a real home in a pleasant brown-walled house on Franklin street, divided from the pavement by a garden full of bounteous greenery, where it was easy to forget the discomforts of our previous mode of life.
I shall not attempt to describe the rapidity with which thrilling excitements succeeded each other in our experiences in this house.
The gathering of many troops around the town filled the streets with a continually moving panorama of war, and we spent our time in greeting, cheering, choking with sudden emotion, and quivering in anticipation of what was yet to follow.
We had now finished other battle-flags [see , “Virginia
scenes in ‘61,” Vol.
I., p. 160], and one of them was bestowed upon the Washington artillery of New Orleans, a body of admirable soldiers who had wakened to enthusiasm the daughters of Virginia
in proportion, I dare say, to the woe they had created among the daughters of Louisiana
in bidding them good-bye.
One morning an orderly arrived to request that the ladies would be out upon the veranda at a given hour; and, punctual to the time fixed, the travel-stained battalion filed past our house.
These were no holiday soldiers.
Their gold was tarnished and their scarlet faded by sun and wind and gallant service — they were veterans now on their way to the front, where the call of duty never failed to find the flower of Louisiana
As they came in line wit h us, the officers saluted with their swords, the band struck up “My Maryland,” the tired soldiers sitting upon the caissons that dragged heavily through the muddy street set up a rousing cheer.
And there in the midst of them, taking the April wind with daring color, was our flag, dipping low until it passed us!
One must grow old and cold indeed before such things are forgotten.
A few days later, on coming out of church — it is a curious fact that most of our exciting news spread over Richmond
on Sunday, and just at that hour — we heard of the crushing blow of the fall of New Orleans and the destruction of our iron-clads.
My brother had just reported aboard one of those splendid ships, as yet unfinished.
As the news came directly from our kinsman, General Randolph
, the Secretary of War
, there was no doubting it; and while the rest of us broke into lamentation, Mr. Jules
de St. Martin
, the brother-in-law of Mr. Judah P. Benjamin
, merely shrugged his shoulders, with a thoroughly characteristic gesture, making no remark.
“This must affect your interests,” some one said to him inquiringly.
“ I am ruined, voila tout!
” was the rejoinder — and this was soon confirmed.
This debonair little gentleman was one of the greatest favorites of our war society in Richmond
His cheerfulness, his wit, his exquisite courtesy, made him friends everywhere; and although his nicety of dress, after the pattern of the boulevardier fini
, was the subject of much wonderment to the populace when he first appeared upon the streets, it did not prevent him from joining the volunteers before Richmond
when occasion called, and roughing it in the trenches like a veteran.
His cheerful endurance of hardship during a freezing winter of camp life became a proverb in the army later in the siege.
For a time nothing was talked of but the capture of New Orleans.
Of the midshipman, my brother, we heard that on the day previous to the taking of the forts, after several days' bombardment by the United States fleet under
Richmond from the Manchester side of the James.|
, he had been sent in charge of ordnance and deserters to a Confederate vessel in the river; that Lieutenant
R----, a friend of his, on the way to report at Fort Jackson
during the hot shelling, had invited the lad to accompany him by way of a pleasure trip; that while they were crossing the moat around Fort Jackson
, in a canoe, and under heavy fire, a thirteen-inch mortar-shell had struck the water near, half filling their craft; and that, after watching the fire from this point for an hour, C----had pulled back again alone, against the Mississippi
current, under fire for a mile and a half of the way-passing an astonished alligator who had been hit on the head by a piece of shell and was dying under protest.
Thus ended a trip alluded to by C----twenty years later as an example of juvenile foolhardiness.
Aboard the steamship Star of the West
next day, he and other midshipmen in charge of gold and silver coin
from the mint and banks of New Orleans, and millions more of paper money, over which they were ordered to keep guard with drawn swords, hurried away from the doomed city, where the enemy's arrival was momentarily expected, and where the burning ships and steamers and bales of cotton along the levee made a huge crescent of fire.
Keeping just ahead of the enemy's fleet, they reached Vicksburg
, and thence went overland to Mobile
, where their charge was given up in safety.
And now we come to the 31st of May, 1862, when the eyes of the whole continent turned to Richmond
On that day Johnston
assaulted the Federals
who had been advanced to Seven Pines
[see pp. 203, 220]. In face of recent reverses, we in Richmond
had begun to feel like the prisoner of the Inquisition in Poe
's story, cast into a dungeon of slowly contracting walls.
With the sound of guns, therefore, in the direction of Seven Pines
, every heart leaped as if deliverance were at hand.
And yet there was no joy in the wild pulsation, since those to whom we looked for succor were our own flesh and blood, barring the way to a foe of superior numbers, abundantly provided, as we
were not, with all the equipments of modern warfare, and backed by a mighty nation as determined as ourselves to win. Hardly a family in the town whose father, son, or brother was not part and parcel of the defending army.
When on the afternoon of the 31st it became known that the engagement had begun, the women of Richmond
were still going about their daily vocations quietly, giving no sign of the inward anguish of apprehension.
There was enough to do now in preparation for the wounded; yet, as events proved, all that was done was not enough by half.
Night brought a lull in the cannonading.
People lay down dressed upon beds, but not to sleep, while the weary soldiers slept upon their arms.
Early next morning the whole town was on the street.
Ambulances, litters, carts, every vehicle that the city could produce, went and came with a ghastly burden; those who could walk limped painfully home, in some cases so black with gunpowder they passed unrecognized.
Women with pallid faces flitted bareheaded through the streets searching for their dead or wounded.
The churches were thrown open, many people visiting them for a sad communion-service or brief time of prayer; the lecture — rooms of various places of worship were crowded with ladies volunteering
Food for the Confederate wounded.|
to sew, as fast as fingers could fly, the rough beds called for by the surgeons.
Men too old or infirm to fight went on horseback or afoot to meet the returning ambulances, and in some cases served as escort to their own dying sons.
By afternoon of the day following the battle, the streets were one vast hospital.
To find shelter for the sufferers a number of unused buildings were thrown open.
I remember, especially, the St. Charles Hotel
, a gloomy place, where two young girls went to look for a member of their family, reported wounded.
We had tramped in vain over pavements burning with the intensity of the sun, from one scene of horror to another, until our feet and brains alike seemed about to serve us no further.
The cool of those vast dreary rooms of the St. Charles
was refreshing; but such a spectacle!
Men in every stage of mutilation lying on the bare boards, with perhaps a haversack or an army blanket beneath their
heads,--some dying, all suffering keenly, while waiting their turn to be attended to. To be there empty-handed and impotent nearly broke our hearts.
We passed from one to the other, making such slight additions to their comfort as were possible, while looking in every upturned face in dread to find the object of our search.
This sorrow, I may add, was spared, the youth arriving at home later with a slight flesh-wound.
The condition of things at this and other improvised hospitals was improved next day by the offerings from many churches of pew-cushions, which, sewn together, served as comfortable beds; and for the remainder of the war their owners thanked God upon bare benches for every “misery missed” that was “mercy gained.”
To supply food for the hospitals the contents of larders all over town were emptied into baskets; while cellars long sealed and cobwebbed, belonging to the old Virginia
gentry who knew good Port and Madeira
, were opened by the Ithuriel
's spear of universal sympathy.
There was not much going to bed that night, either; and I remember spending the greater part of it leaning from my window to seek the cool night air, while wondering as to the fate of those near to me. There was a summons to my mother about midnight.
Two soldiers came to tell her of the wounding of one close of kin; but she was already on duty elsewhere, tireless and watchful as ever.
Up to that time the younger girls had been regarded as superfluities in hospital service; but on Monday two of us found a couple of rooms where fifteen wounded men lay upon pallets around the floor, and, on offering our services to the surgeons in charge, were proud to have them accepted and to be installed as responsible nurses, under direction of an older and more experienced woman.
The constant activity our work entailed was a relief from the strained excitement of life after the battle of Seven Pines
When the first flurry of distress was
over, the residents of those pretty houses standing back in gardens full of roses set their cooks to work, or, better still, went themselves into the kitchen, to compound delicious messes for the wounded, after the appetizing old Virginia
Flitting about the streets in the direction of the hospitals were smiling, white-jacketed negroes, carrying silver trays with dishes of fine porcelain under napkins of thick white damask, containing soups, creams, jellies, thin biscuit, eggs à la creme, boiled chicken, etc., surmounted by clusters of freshly gathered flowers.
A year later we had cause to pine after these culinary glories when it came to measuring out, with sinking hearts, the meager portions of milk and food we could afford to give our charges.
As an instance, however, A that quality in food was not always appreciated by the patients, my mother urged upon one of her sufferers (a gaunt and soft-voiced Carolinian
from the “piney woods district” ) a delicately served trifle from some neigh-boring kitchen.
“Jes ez you say, old miss,” was the weary answer; “I ain't a-contradictin‘ you. It mout be good for me, but my stomick's kinder sot agin
it. There ain't but one thing I'm sorter yarnin‘ arter, an‘ that's a dish o‘ greens en bacon fat, with a few molarses poured onto it.”
From our patients, when they could syllable the tale, we had accounts of the fury of the fight, which were made none the less horrible by such assistance as imagination could give to the facts.
I remember they told us of shot thrown from the enemy's batteries, that plowed their way through lines of flesh and blood before exploding in showers of musket-balls to do still further havoc.
Before these awful missiles, it was said, our men had fallen in swaths, the living closing over them to press forward in the charge.
It was at the end of one of these narrations that a piping voice came from a pallet in the corner: “They fit right smart, them Yanks
did, I tell you!
” and not to laugh was as much of an effort as it had just been not to cry.
From one scene of death and suffering to another we passed during those days of June.
Under a withering heat that made the hours preceding dawn
the only ones of the twenty-four endurable in point of temperature, and a shower-bath the only form of diversion we had time or thought to indulge in, to go out-of-doors was sometimes worse than remaining in our wards.
But one night after several of us had been walking about town in a state of panting exhaustion, palm-leaf fans in hand, a friend persuaded us to ascend to the small platform on the summit of the Capitol
, in search of fresher air. To reach it was like going through a vapor-bath, but an hour amid the cool breezes above the tree-tops of the square was a thing of joy unspeakable.
Day by day we were called to our windows by the wailing dirge of a military band preceding a soldiers funeral.
One could not number those sad pageants: the coffin crowned with cap and sword and gloves, the riderless horse following with empty boots fixed in the stirrups of an army saddle; such soldiers as could be spared from the front marching after with arms reversed and crape-enfolded banners; the passers-by standing with bare, bent heads.
Funerals less honored outwardly were continually occurring.
Then and thereafter the green hillsides of lovely Hollywood
were frequently up-turned to find resting-places for the heroic dead.
So much taxed for time and for attendants were those who officiated that it was not unusual to perform the last rites for the departed at night.
A solemn scene was that in the July moonlight, when, in the presence of the few who valued him most, we laid to rest one of my own nearest kinsmen, of whom in the old service of the United States
, as in that of the Confederacy
, it was said, “He was a spotless knight.”
Spite of its melancholy uses, there was no more favorite walk in Richmond
, a picturesquely beautiful spot, where high hills sink into velvet undulations, profusely shaded with holly, pine, and cedar, as well as by trees of deciduous foliage.
In spring the banks of the stream that runs through the valley were enameled with wild flowers, and the thickets were full of May-blossom and dogwood.
Mounting to the summit of the bluff, one may sit under the shade of some ample oak, to view the spires and roofs of the town, with the white colonnade of the distant Capitol
, thus seen beneath her verdant foliage “upon hills, girdled by hills,” confirms what an old writer felt called to exclaim about it, “Verily, this city hath a pleasant seat.”
On the right, below this point, flows the rushing yellow river, making ceaseless turmoil around islets of rock whose rifts are full of birch and willow, or leaping impetuously over the bowlders of granite that strew its bed. Old-time Richmond
folk used to say that the sound of their favorite James
(or, to be exact, “Jeems” ) went with them into foreign countries, during no matter how many years of absence, haunting them like a strain of sweetest music; nor would they permit a suggestion of superiority in the flavor of any other fluid to that of a draught of its amber waters.
So blent with my own memories of war is the voice of that tireless river, that I seem to hear it yet, over the tramp of rusty battalions, the short imperious stroke of the alarmbell, the clash of passing bands, the gallop of eager horsemen, the roar of battle, the moan of hospitals, the stifled note of sorrow!
During all this time President Davis
was a familiar and picturesque figure on the streets, walking through the Capitol
square from his residence to the
executive office in the morning, not to return until late in the afternoon, or riding just before nightfall to visit one or another of the encampments near the city.
He was tall, erect, slender, and of a dignified and soldierly bearing, with clear-cut and high-bred features, and of a demeanor of stately courtesy to all. He was clad always in Confederate gray cloth, and wore a soft felt hat with wide brim.
Afoot, his step was brisk and firm; in the saddle he rode admirably and with a martial aspect.
His early life had been spent in the Military Academy at West Point
and upon the then north-western frontier in the Black Hawk War
, and he afterward greatly distinguished himself at Monterey
and Buena Vista
; at the time when we knew him, everything in his appearance and manner was suggestive of such a training.
He was reported to feel quite out of place in the office of President, with executive and administrative duties, in the midst of such a war; General Lee
always spoke of him as the best of military advisers; his own inclination was to be with the army, and at the first tidings of sound of a gun, anywhere within reach of Richmond
, he was in the saddle and off for the spot — to the dismay of his staff-officers, who were expected to act as an escort on such occasions, and who never knew at what hour of the night or of the next day they should get back to bed or to a meal.
The stories we were told of his adventures on such excursions were many, and sometimes amusing.
For instance, when General Lee
had crossed the Chickahominy
, President Davis
, with several staff-officers, overtook the column, and, with the Secretary of War
and a few other non-combatants, forded the river just as the battle at Mechanicsville
, surrounded by members of his own staff and other officers, was found a fe w hundred yards north of the bridge, in the middle of the broad road, mounted and busily engaged in directing the attack then about to be made by a brigade sweeping in line over the fields to the east of the road and toward Ellerson's Mill, where in a few minutes a hot engagement commenced.
Shot, from the enemy's guns out of sight, went whizzing overhead in quick succession, striking every moment nearer the group of horsemen in the road as the gunners improved their range.
observed the President
's approach, and was evidently annoyed at what he considered a foolhardy expedition of needless exposure of the head of the Government
, whose duties were elsewhere.
He turned his back for a moment, until Colonel Chilton
had been dispatched at a gallop with the last direction to the commander of the attacking brigade; then, facing the cavalcade and looking like the god of war indignant, he exchanged with the President
a salute, with the most frigid reserve of anything like welcome or cordiality.
In an instant, and without allowance of opportunity for a word from the President
, the general, looking not at him but at the assemblage at large, asked in a tone of irritation:
Who are all this army of people, and what are they doing here?
No one moved or spoke, but all eyes were upon the President
; everybody perfectly understood that this was only an order for him to retire to a place of safety, and the roar of the guns, the rattling fire of musketry, and the bustle of a battle in progress, with troops continually arriving across the
bridge to go into action, went on. The President twisted in his saddle, quite taken aback at such a greeting — the general regarding him now with glances of growing severity.
After a painful pause the President
said, deprecatingly: “It is not my army, General.”
“It certainly is not my
army, Mr. President
” was the prompt reply, “and this is no place for it”--in an accent of command.
Such a rebuff was a stunner to Mr. Davis
, who, however, soon regained his serenity and answered:
“Well, General, if I withdraw, perhaps they will follow,” and, raising his hat in another cold salute, he turned his horse's head to ride slowly toward the bridge-seeing, as he turned, a man killed immediately before him by a shot from a gun which at that moment got the range of the road.
The President's own staff-officers followed him, as did various others; but he presently drew rein in a stream, where the high bank and the bushes concealed him from General Lee
's repelling observation, and there remained while the battle raged.
The Secretary of War
had also made a show of withdrawing, but improved the opportunity afforded by rather a deep ditch on the roadside to attempt to conceal himself and his horse there for a time from General Lee
, who at that moment was more to be dreaded than the enemy's guns.
When on the 27th of June the Seven Days strife began, there was none of the excitement that had attended the battle of Seven Pines
People had shaken themselves down, as it were, to the grim reality of a fight that must be fought.
“Let the war bleed, and let the mighty fall,” was the spirit of their cry.
It is not my purpose to deal with the history of those awful Seven Days. Mine only to speak of the other side of that canvas in which heroes of two armies were passing and repassing, as on some huge Homeric frieze, in the manoeuvres of a strife that hung our land in mourning.
The scars of war are healed when this is written, and the vast “pity of it” fills the heart that wakes the retrospect.
What I have said of Richmond
before these battles will suffice for a picture of the summer's experience.
When the tide of battle receded, what wrecked hopes it left to tell the tale of the Battle Summer
Victory was ours, but in how many homes was heard the voice of lamentation to drown the shouts of triumph!
Many families, rich and poor alike, were bereaved of their dearest; and for many of the dead there was mourning by all the town.
No incident of the war, for instance, made a deeper impression than the fall in battle of Colonel Munford
's beautiful and brave young son, Ellis
, whose body, laid across his own caisson, was carried that summer to his father's house at nightfall, where the family, unconscious of their loss, were sitting in cheerful talk around the portal.
Another son of Richmond
, whose death was keenly felt by everybody, received his mortal wound at the front of the first charge to break the enemy's line at Gaines's Mill
This was Lieutenant-Colonel Bradfute Warwick
, a young hero who had won his spurs in service with Garibaldi
Losses like these are irreparable in any community; and so, with lamentations in nearly every household, while the spirit along the lines continued unabated, it was a chastened “Thank God” that went up among us when we knew the siege of Richmond