Last days of the Southern Confederacy.
[from the New York herald, March 13, 1891.]
Scenes in the streets of Richmond—fabulous prices in Currency.
The fabulous prices of everything no Fiction—Going to
North Carolina after a young lady.
I chanced to be in
Richmond just three weeks previous to the surrender.
Business had made me a frequent visitor to the metropolis of the
Confederacy during the war, and I could always tell quite accurately how the war was going by the countenance and demeanor of its inhabitants, which to me were a more certain criterion than the daily papers.
Whenever victory perched upon the
Confederate banner, the faces of its inhabitants would beam with joy; each one would move with an elastic step and renewed animation.
But should it be otherwise, then sadness and gloom were depicted upon each countenance, even to the school children, who would trudge along with depressed looks.
As soon, therefore, as I stepped from the train on the occasion referred to, I knew that something was wrong; there seemed a deathlike stillness to pervade the city; every one wore a haggard, scared look, as if apprehensive of some great impending calamity.
I dared not ask a question, nor had I need to do so, as I felt too surely that the end was near.
My first visit was to my banker, one who dealt largely in Confederate securities, and knew too well the ups and downs of the
Confederate cause by the fluctuations of its paper.
As soon as he could give me a private moment he said in a sad, low tone:
‘If you have any paper money put it into specie at once.’
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‘Is it as bad as that?’
I replied.
‘Yes, and much worse; another week and you will get nothing.’
As I happened to have about three thousand dollars in Confederate paper, I drew it forth and requested him to get me what silver it would bring.
The next morning he handed me thirty dollars, telling me at the same time to feel thankful for that much.
At the house of a friend with whom I was staying I asked the question, ‘How do you think the war will terminate?’
The host simply took me to his bed-room, and raising the coverlet, showed me several barrels of flour, sacks of coffee, sugar and other groceries snugly stowed away.
This, he said, I would find to be the casein nearly every household in the city.
In every store I entered there seemed to be the greatest scarcity of goods, and a disinclination to sell.
Of fire-arms and ammunition there were none, though I was assured that nearly every private dwelling was a small arsenal.
In a few barrooms scattered about vigilant eyes ever kept watch, and upon the first sound of alarm the owners themselves were ready to pour the fiery liquid into the gutters.
The fabulous prices paid for everything were no fiction.
The cry of Richard III., ‘My kingdom for a horse,’ was a reality as regards the
Confederate paper money, which was frequently offered in sums of thousands of dollars for a barrel of flour or a few pounds of bacon.
After the surrender it was to be seen strewed along the streets, and served to adorn many a negro's cabin.
The eventful Third of April.
It was known about this time to the people of
Richmond that the negro troops in the
Union army had requested
General Grant to give them the honor of being the first to enter the fallen capital.
This fact gave rise to a fear that they would unite with the worst class of resident negroes and burn and sack the city.
When, therefore, the black smoke and lurid flames arose on that eventful 3d of April, caused by the
Confederates themselves, the terror-stricken inhabitants at first thought their fears were to be realized, but were soon relieved when they saw the manful fight made by many of the negroes and Union troops to suppress the flames.
At no time did they fear their own servants; indeed, I was afterward assured that the many negroes who filled the streets and welcomed the
Union troops would have resisted any attack upon the households of their old masters.
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The behavior of many of the old family servants was very marked in the care and great solicitude shown by them for their masters during this trying period.
As an amusing instance of this, I will tell this incident:
An old lady had a very bright, good-looking maid servant, to whom some of the
Union officers had shown considerable attention by taking her out driving.
The girl came in one morning and asked her old mistress if she would not take a drive with her in the hack which stood at the door, with her sable escort in waiting.
Doubtless this was done not in a spirit of irony, but really in feeling for her old mistress.
In another family, on the day the troops entered the city, when all the males had fled, leaving several young ladies with their mother alone, ‘Old Mammy,’ the faithful nurse, was posted at the front door with the baby in her arms, while the trembling females locked themselves in an upper room.
When the hurrahing, wild Union troops passed along, many straggled into the house and asked where the white ladies were.
‘Old Mammy’ replied: ‘Dis is de only white lady; all de res' ara cullud ladies,’ and she laughed and tossed up the baby, which seemed to please the soldiers, who chucked the baby and passed on.
The ladies of
Richmond who bore such an active part on that terrible 3d of April, many of whom with blanched faces mounted the tops of their roofs, and with their faithful servants swept off the flying firebrands as they were wafted over the city, or bore in their arms the sick to places of safety, or sent words of comfort to their husbands and their sons who were battling against the flames—these were the true women of the
South, who had never given up the hope of final victory until
Lee laid down his sword at
Appomattox.
They were calm even in defeat; and though strong men lost their reason and shed tears in maniacal grief over the destruction of their beautiful city, yet her noble women still stood unflinching, facing all dangers with a heroism that has never been equalled since the days of
Sparta.
Sauntering along the street, making a few purchases preparatory to leaving the doomed city, I was suddenly accosted by a friend, who with trembling voice and terrified countenance exclaimed:
‘Sir, I have just heard that the Petersburg and Weldon railroad will be cut by the
Yankees in a few days.
My daughter, who is in
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North Carolina, will be made a prisoner.
I will give all I have to get her home!’
I saw the intense anguish of the father, and learning that he could not get a pass to go through
Petersburg, I said:
‘
Mr. T——, if you will pay my expenses, I will have your daughter here in two days.’
He overwhelmed me with thanks, crammed my pockets full of Confederate notes, filled my haversack with rations for several days, and I left next morning for
Petersburg.
The train not being allowed to enter the city, we had to make a mile or more in a conveyance of some kind at an exorbitant price.
Learning that the
Weldon train ran only at night for fear of the
Yankee batteries which were alarmingly near, I had time to inspect the city.
I found here a marked contrast to
Richmond.
As I passed along its streets viewing the marks of shot and shell on every side, hearing now and then the heavy, sullen boom of the enemy's guns, seeing on every hand the presence of war, I noticed its business men had, nevertheless, a calm, determined look.
Its streets were filled with women and children, who seemed to know no fear, though at any moment a shrieking shell might dash among them, but each eye would turn in loving confidence to the
Confederate flag which floated over the headquarters of
General Lee, feeling that they were secure as long as he was there.
That night, when all was quiet and darkness reigned, with not a light to be seen, our train quietly slipped out of the city like a blockade-runner passing the batteries.
The passengers viewed in silence the flashing of the guns as they were trying to locate the train.
It was a moment of intense excitement, but on we crept until at last the captain came along with a lantern and said, ‘All right!’
and we breathed more freely; but from the proximity of the batteries, I surmised that it would not be ‘all right’ many days hence.
Hastening on my journey, I found the young lady, and telling her she must face the
Yankee batteries if she would see her home, I found her even enthusiastic at the idea, and we hastily left, though under protest of her friends.
Returning the same route—which, indeed, was the only one now left—we approached to within five miles of
Petersburg and waited for darkness.
The lights were again extinguished, the passengers warned to tuck their heads low, which in many cases was done by lying flat on the floor, and then we began the ordeal, moving very
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slowly, sometimes halting, at every moment fearing a shell from the belching batteries, which had heard the creaking of the train and were ‘feeling’ for our position.
The glare and the boom of the guns, the dead silence broken only by a sob from some terrified heart, all filled up a few moments of time never to be forgotten.
But we entered the city safely just as the moon was rising, and the next morning I handed my friend his daughter.
A few days after the batteries closed — the gap on the
Weldon road, cutting off
Petersburg and
Richmond from the
South, and compelling
General Lee to prepare for retreat.
