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Raphael Semmes, Memoirs of Service Afloat During the War Between the States, Chapter 50: (search)
crew. We were under way again, the next morning at six o'clock; the weather was clear, with a few passing clouds, and the look-out had not been long at the mast-head before he cried sail ho! twice, in quick suggestion. Upon being questioned, he reported two large ships at anchor, that looked sort oa Yankee. We soon began to raise these ships from the deck, and when we got a good view of them through our powerful glasses, we were of the same opinion with the look-out. They were evidently Yankee. As they were at anchor, and helpless—waiting for a fair wind with which to run out of the Strait—we had nothing to gain by a concealment of our character, and showed them at once the Confederate flag. That flag—beautiful though it was—must have been a terrible wet blanket upon the schemes of these two Yankee skippers. It struck them dumb, for they refused to show me any bunting in return. 1 captured them both, with the flaunting lie stowed away snugly in their cabins. They were monste
Raphael Semmes, Memoirs of Service Afloat During the War Between the States, Chapter 56: (search)
and Indians were all mixed. But prominent above all stood the Yankee. The shanties were his, and the goods were his. He kept the hotels, marked the billiards, and sold the grog. Pretty soon a coach drove up to the door of the hotel at which we were stopping, to take us to Matamoras, a distance of thirty miles. Here was the Yankee again. The coach had been built in Troy, New York. The horses were all northern horses—tall, strong, and gaunt, none of your Mexican mustangs. The Jehu was Yankee, a tall fellow, with fisherman's boots, and fancy top-hamper. The dried — up little Mexicans who attended to the horses, harnessing and unharnessing them, on the road, at the different relay stations, evidently stood in great awe of him. He took us into Matamoras on time, and at the end of his journey, cracked his whip, and drew up his team at the hotel-door, with a flourish that would have done honor to Mr. Samuel Weller, senior, himself. As great a revolution had taken place in Matamor
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 1. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 133 (search)
e it down as a settled fact to be reckoned from, that these States will never form an alliance again with the Abolition States of the North--never while the world stands. An army of a million soldiers could not force them back. They will die to a man first, save, perhaps, here and there one who has neither cotton nor negroes to fight for, and who would be glad to see no one better off than himself. Party lines are now annihilated. There is no longer any Whig or Democrat, Southern man and Yankee, but Southern Confederacy men. Tennesseeans are now called upon to decide whether they will fight the South or the North. We rejoice to see the change the political mind of Tennessee is undergoing--Nashville is overwhelmingly for secession to-day. All the men I left Union men, I find now thinking with me, save one--i. e., all I have yet conversed with. I learn that a similar change of opinion is universal, except in the mountainous districts of Tennessee. I regard that the fate of Te
Edward Alfred Pollard, The lost cause; a new Southern history of the War of the Confederates ... Drawn from official sources and approved by the most distinguished Confederate leaders., Chapter 30: (search)
were fired on. Immediately after this fire, and while it was still doubtful whether the enemy would summon up courage enough to advance again, in a word, before any one else ventured to do so, Littlepage ran out into the road, and, finding a dead Yankee there, proceeded to search his pockets to see, as he said, if he might not be fortunate enough to find a watch. The little fellow wanted to own a watch, and, as the Yankees had robbed me, his teacher, of a gold watch a short time before, I suppose he concluded that there would be no harm in his taking a watch from a dead Yankee; but his teacher always discouraged any feeling of this kind in his pupils. Littlepage failed to secure the prize by not looking in the overcoat pockets, and the watch (for there was really one) was found afterwards by Lieut. Hart. But in searching the pockets of the inner garments, Littlepage did find a segar-case, a memorandum-box, etc. When the Yankees had been driven back and thrown into a panic by the
Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life, VI: in and out of the pulpit (search)
han one would suppose. While at Newburyport, Higginson renewed his acquaintance with Whittier, having first met him when a boy of nineteen. I spent a day in Amesbury and saw Whittier. . . . Dark, slender, bald, blackhaired, kind, calm, flashing eyed, keen, somewhat narrow; not commanding, but interesting. Evidently injured by politics, easily content with limited views; yet sympathetic and (probably) generous. Lives in an appropriate cottage yet very simple. A queer compound of Yankee-Quaker and Yankee-hero and Yankee-poet; the nationality everywhere. He would whittle, no doubt. But his eye gleamed with a soft, beautiful tenderness as he came to the door and remarked on the cold sunset sky. . . . He lives with an odd Quaker-dressed mother, who haunted the back room with knitting and spectacles;—square and mild, as the elderly of her persuasion always are. Also his sister who talked with us, a queer little sprightly woman, reputed very brilliant and looking so. We laughe
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Massachusetts in the Army and Navy during the war of 1861-1865, vol. 1: prelminary narrative, Preliminary narrative. (search)
nism provided no place for him such as it created for all others; he degenerated into the mere postmaster of the regiment or the caterer for the officers' mess. It was fortunate if actual demoralization did not follow. Sometimes the very spirit of adventure, having no legitimate channel, led him astray, as with the Massachusetts chaplain of one of the early colored regiments at the South, of whom a soldier said, Woffer Mars' Chapman [chaplain] made a preacher for? He's de fightin'est more Yankee I eber see in all my days. This adventurous person, volunteering on a perilous scouting expedition, was captured by the enemy and held a prisoner for a year, at a time when non-combatant chaplains were promptly exchanged. Apart from such extremes, we often come upon hints, in the books of personal reminiscences, of the errors or incompetence of individual chaplains. See, for instance, Lincoln's 34th Mass. Infantry, pp. 92, 105; Putnam's Co. A, 25th Mass., p. 186. On the other hand, ther
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 13. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), The Kilpatrick-Dahlgren raid against Richmond. (search)
were fired on. Immediately after this fire, and while it was still doubtful whether the enemy would summon up courage enough to advance again, in a word, before any one else ventured to do so, Littlepage ran out into the road, and finding a dead Yankee there, proceeded to search his pockets to see, as he said, if he might not be fortunate enough to find a watch. The little fellow wanted to own a watch, and, as the Yankees had robbed me, his teacher, of a gold watch a short time before, I suppose he concluded that there would be no harm in his taking a watch from a dead Yankee; but his teacher always discouraged any feelings of this kind in his pupils. Littlepage failed to secure the prize by not looking in the overcoat pockets, and the watch (for there was really one) was found afterwards by Lieutenant Hart. But in searching the pockets of the inner garments, Littlepage did find a cigar-case, a memorandum-box, etc. When the Yankees had been driven back and thrown into a panic by
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 19. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), chapter 1.11 (search)
nd they swelled and swaggered around, dispensing willing information of tactics and grand strategy in the most profuse and generous way to an absorbent and listening crowd. The whole of Saturday, the 20th, did we lie in the pines, resting and surmising, greeting each new regiment as it arrived at all hours of the day and night, panting for the fight. Questions asked were: Had the fighting begun yet? Are we too late? When was it to be? Let us get a good place where we can kill every d——d Yankee, and then go home. Not a sound or shot disturbed the quiet of long Saturday, and we slept peacefully in the pines that night. As the next day (Sunday, the 21st) broke we were jumped out of our lairs by the loudest gun I ever heard, apparently fired right at our heads, as we supposed, and from just over the bank of Bull Run, only a hundred yards distant; but it proved to be the signal gun from Centerville, four miles away, in the encampment of General McDowell. At a double quick we were in
Historic leaves, volume 4, April, 1905 - January, 1906, Personal Experience of a Union Veteran (search)
e road. At ten o'clock the next morning the two guns, with 100 rounds of ammunition, were on the way to Mobile; and not the slightest accident or hitch had interrupted the work. And what couldn't be done was thus accomplished, chiefly by less than half a hundred black boys, and during a night as dark as their faces. That afternoon the engineer officer in charge of the work on the fort called on me and asked me if I was an engineer. I told him that I was simply an up-and-down, out-and-out Yankee; and that my chief occupation was growling at my ill luck. Yes, he said, I know you seem to think that you are a misfit here, but, judging from what I saw of your performance last night, I believe that Providence has placed you here; and if you will allow me, I think you had better stop grumbling. I didn't see you at the batteries, I said. Well, I took special pains that you shouldn't see me, he replied. But I have come to congratulate you on the handsome manner in which you have undone
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 5. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Tales and Sketches (search)
ght a new home among the strange Indians of the North. But what has all this to do with the falls? When the rail-cars came thundering through his lake country, Wordsworth attempted to exorcise them by a sonnet; and, were I not a very decided Yankee, I might possibly follow his example, and utter in this connection my protest against the desecration of Patucket Falls, and battle with objurgatory stanzas these dams and mills, as Balmawhapple shot off his horse-pistol at Stirling Castle. Rockir abode in the hostelry and daily held conversation with each other in the capacious parlor. I have heard those who at the time visited the tavern say that it was literally thronged for several weeks. Small, squeaking voices spoke in a sort of Yankee-Irish dialect, in the haunted room, to the astonishment and admiration of hundreds. The inn, of course, was blessed by this fairy visitation; the clapboards ceased their racket, clear panes took the place of rags in the sashes, and the little ti
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