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the brutality practised by Pope's troops upon the poor people of Virginia, but annex one instance as an example of their ruffianism and cowardice. The facts are derived from a private and confidential letter: Federal atrocities in Virginia far outstrip all tales of fiction. Rape, arson, and theft seem to be the constant attendants of an army professing to fight for the Union. A recital of the horrible murders that mark its bloody attack, one might suppose, would appall the doomed of Hades. Mrs. Fitzhugh, of Ravensworth — mother of the late Andrew Fitzhugh, of the Navy-a lady of distinguished position, and one singularly embodying the graces and virtues of her sex, was brutally murdered in front of her house. Ravensworth, the family-seat of the Fitzhughs, you know, is one of the oldest estates in Virginia; it has been in the, family since the reign of Charles the Second, from whom it was received as a grant, and has ever been noted as a place where a profuse hospitality was
Benson J. Lossing, Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War. Volume 2., Chapter 1: effect of the battle of Bull's Run.--reorganization of the Army of the Potomac.--Congress, and the council of the conspirators.--East Tennessee. (search)
ates, in vindication of an idea and a principle, and attempting to hold in union, by force, a people who had the right and the desire to withdraw from a hated fellowship. It was declared that the bubble of Democracy had burst. There was joyful wailing over the late United States; and one of England's poets was constrained to write-- Alas for America's glory! Ichabod-vanished outright; And all the magnificent story Told as a dream of the night! Alas for the Heroes and Sages, Saddened, in Hades, to know That what they had built for all ages, Melts like a palace of snow! This relative condition of the parties was temporary. The loyal people instantly recovered from the stunning blow, Five days after the Battle of Bull's Run, the Secretary of State wrote to Mr. Adams, the American Minister in London, saying: Our Army of the Potomac, on Sunday last, met a reverse equally severe and unexpected. For a day or two the panic which had produced the result was followed by a panic th
Benson J. Lossing, Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War. Volume 3., Chapter 22: prisoners.-benevolent operations during the War.--readjustment of National affairs.--conclusion. (search)
h in the ghastly picture of the iniquity of those Conspirators, is given in the fact, that they prepared to blow up Libby Prison, with its starving inmates, with gunpowder, rather than allow them to regain their liberty. To the testimony concerning that premeditated act, already given in this work, See page 291. may be added that of Turner, the commandant of the prison, who said, in answer to the question of a captive officer, Was the prison mined? Yes, and I would have blown you all to Hades before I would have suffered you to be rescued. !A remark of Bishop Johns was corroborative as well as curious, in reply to the question, Whether it was a Christian mode of-warfare to blow up defenseless prisoners? The Bishop replied, I suppose the authorities are satisfied on that point, though I do not mean to justify it. Report of the Committee. The sufferings of the captives on Belle Isle, during the starving time were much greater than of those in Libby Prison, for the latter we
Charles Congdon, Tribune Essays: Leading Articles Contributing to the New York Tribune from 1857 to 1863. (ed. Horace Greeley), Drawing it mild in Memphis. (search)
. When all is lost, we hold that it will be his duty to blow out what brains he may have left — his remainder cerebrum, so to speak. To make the whole proceeding more sublime, he might announce that upon the 14th inst., at high noon, he intended to consummate his felo de se, and request his friends and admirers to hang or shoot themselves, or to take big morphine pills, at the same identical moment. Then, with simultaneous kick or quiver, or firing their own salvo over their departure for Hades, the Chiefs of Secession might secede from this wicked world, and enter upon another from which, however hot, secession. will be impossible. We throw out these hints merely from an ardent passion for seeing things done neatly. If we are to have no Confederate States, we shall need no Confederate Statesmen. In a restored Union it will be impossible to put Mr. Jefferson Davis and his crazy cronies to any sort of use. Will they have the grace to step out? Will they have the goodness to l
s are such that, like a master-piece in painting, or an extended view of some grand mountain scenery, it cannot be appreciated at one view, but becomes huger and more formidable in proportion as one examines it. Why such a position was ever surrendered to less than one hundred thousand, and before it had been besieged six months, is a mystery of the most impenetrable character. With ten thousand Yankees behind the works, and an ample supply of food and munitions, all the rebels this side of Hades cannot take the Fort within the next decade. There was one pleasing difference between the Fort as we saw it this time, and on the Thursday which preceded its capture; the Stars and Stripes were floating gaily from the loftiest bastion of the works; companies in blue were manoeuvring about the grounds; brass bands enlivened the air with everything but Dixie; clean white tents, and fine-looking soldiers covered the surroundings of Dover, and, in short, everything appeared as though determina
33. Southern treason. by Martin Farquhar Tupper. Like Jezebel's face at her casement, Strangely dismayed and perplexed, The world looks forth in amazement, Marvelling what's to come next. The world looks round her in wonder For beauty and strength destroyed For brotherhoods broken in sunder, And statecraft quite made void! Alas! for America's glory! Ichabod — vanished outright; And all her magnificent story Told as a dream of the night! Alas! for the heroes and sages, Saddened in Hades to know That what they had built for all ages, Melts like a palace of snow! And woe for the shame and the pity, That, all for no cause, to no end, City should fight against city, And brother with brother contend! Alas! what a libel on freedom-- Patriots — gone to the bad, Citizens — Arabs of Edom, Slave-drivers — liberty-mad! How sadly, through sons so degraded, Pigmies, ill-sprung from great men, Even your glories look faded, Washington, Franklin, and Penn! Popular government slandered 'M
n we bade our friends good-by, and entered the enemy's country. We were now in the dreariest and wildest part of the Dismal Swamp; the darkness was dense, the air damp, and the ghastly silence was broken only by the hooting of owls and the crying of wildcats. For two hours we rode through the Stygian blackness of the forest, when we arrived at South-Mills — a collection of about twenty houses — where we stopped to rest our horses. Here we left the canal and descended into another swamp of Hades. The narrow, crooked road was flooded with water, and crossed innumerable little rickety bridges, over which our horses picked their steps with great caution and reluctance. A mile of this road to Jordan, a suspicion I had expressed that we had missed the way, strengthened every minute. Turning a bend, a picket-fire, with four men standing by it, appeared ahead, while further on a large camp-fire lighted up the forest. What could this mean? We knew General Wild to be in Elizabeth City.
L. P. Brockett, The camp, the battlefield, and the hospital: or, lights and shadows of the great rebellion, Pauline Cushman, the celebrated Union spy and scout of the Army of the Cumberland. (search)
s to be had for love or money. Every rebel sympathizer in town had heard of it, and all were there. The time approached for the play to begin. The musicians in the orchestra tuned their big fiddles in their usual mysterious manner. Ushers began to call out the numbers of seats, and to slam the doors in their wonted style. The call-boy flew here and there, and at last, in obedience to the prompter's bell, the curtain began to rise, discovering Mr. Pluto at breakfast, within the shades of Hades. There was, however, a veritable Pluto to burst upon them, that they wot not of. This was coming. In the meantime, the jokes and mirth of the Seven sisters were more than ordinarily relished. It may have been that those in the secret were so delighted at the prospect of seeing the Federal authorities thus wantonly insulted, that they greeted every thing with rapture, and that this became contagious among the good Union people of the house, who .f course, were ignorant of the joke. At le
and the crowning attraction before which every other thing paled and dwindled to insignificance, a score of abandoned women, dancing and ogling with every manner of man, robbing them while embracing, cheering and drinking with them, and in every way bedeviling them; the whole forming a scene viler than imagination or the pen of man can conceive or picture; grouping of wild orgies and terrible debaucheries, such as would put Lucifer to a blush, and compel a revolution in the lowest depths of Hades. Kuhn had strolled through the place, and now, out of compliment to general custom, purchased a cigar and was just turning to depart, when he suddenly found himself being hustled back and forth among several hard-looking fellows, who, evidently knowing his business, and surmising that he carried large sums of money upon his person, had determined to provoke him to resistance; when there would, according to the social codes then in existence at Laramie, have been a just cause for either ro
ng the Southern roses. When Archimedes, long ago, Spoke out so grandly, “*do\s pou= stw=, - Give me a place to stand on, I'll move your planet for you, now,” -- He little dreamed or fancied how The sto at last should find its pou For woman's faith to land on. Her lever was the wand of art, Her fulcrum was the human heart, Whence all unfailing aid is; She moved the earth! Its thunders pealed, Its mountains shook, its temples reeled, The blood-red fountains were unsealed, And Moloch sunk to Hades. All through the conflict, up and down Marched Uncle Tom and Old John Brown, One ghost, one form ideal; And which was false and which was true, And which was mightier of the two, The wisest sibyl never knew, For both aEke were real. Sister, the holy maid does well Who counts her beads in convent cell, Where pale devotion lingers; But she who serves the sufferer's needs, Whose prayers are spelt in loving deeds, May trust the Lord will count her beads As well as human fingers. When Truth h
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