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A small slip of paper, sent up from the War Department to
President Davis, as he was seated in his pew in St. Paul's Church, contained the news of the most momentous event of the war.
It is a most remarkable circumstance that the people of
Richmond had remained in profound ignorance of the fighting which had been taking place for three days on
Gen. Lee's lines.
There was not a rumour of it in the air. Not a newspaper office in the city had any inkling of what was going on. Indeed for the past few days there had been visible reassurance in the
Confederate capital; there were rumours that
Johnston was moving to
Lee's lines and a general idea that the combined force would take the offensive against the enemy.
But a day before
Grant had commenced his heavy movement a curious excitement had taken place in
Richmond.
The morning train had brought from
Petersburg the wonderful rumour that
Gen. Lee had made a night attack, in which he had crushed the enemy along his whole line.
John M. Daniel, the editor of the Richmond
Examiner, died the same day under the delusion that such a victory had been won; and
John Mitchel, who wrote his obituary in the morning papers, expressed the regret that the great
Virginian had passed away just as a decisive victory was likely to give the turning point to the success of the Southern Confederacy!
The circumstance shows how little prepared the people of
Richmond were on the bright Sabbath morning of the 2d of April for the news that fell upon them like a thunder-clap from clear skies, and smote the ear of the community as a knell of death.
The report of a great misfortune soon traverses a city without the aid of printed bulletins.
But that of the evacuation of
Richmond fell upon many incredulous ears.
One could see the quiet streets stretching away, unmolested by one single sign of war; across the
James the landscape glistened in the sun; everything which met the eye spoke of peace, and made it impossible to picture in imagination the scene which was to ensue.
There were but few people in the streets; no vehicles disturbed the quiet of the Sabbath; the sound of the church-going bells rose into the cloudless sky, and floated on the blue tide of the beautiful day. How was it possible to imagine that in the next twenty-four hours, war, with its train of horrours, was to enter the scene; that this peaceful city, a secure possession for four years, was at last to succumb; that it was to be a prey to a great conflagration, and that all the hopes of the Southern Confederacy were to be consumed in one day, as a scroll in the fire!
As the day wore on, clatter and bustle in the streets denoted the progress of the evacuation, and convinced those who had been incredulous of
