May 29, 1865.—I arrived in Mobile on the 27th, having left Newnan on the 17th instant, in company with Captain Nutt, his wife and three children. Captain Cloud, one of General Morgan’s squadron, and about six of Captain Nutt’s men, were of the party. I regretted leaving Newnan, as I have many good and true friends there; among them my kind friend, Dr. Hughes. He intends starting for his home in Kentucky in a few days. The failure of our cause has been a sad blow to him. He is one of those who was willing to suffer much more than he had already, so we had gained our independence.
I had concluded to go to Atlanta, and see if the Federal commander there knew of any way to send me on, as I had been told they were sending refugees back to their homes. While getting ready, Captain Nutt, and Captain Butler, our old commissary, called and told me, if I wished, I could go with Captain N. and his family; they were going to West Point in the cars, and Captain B. would have a wagon waiting there to take them to Montgomery. I was only too thankful to accept the kind offer. Dr. Hughes very kindly disposed of my whisky, and received three dollars and fifty cents, all the money I had in my possession, with the exception of a one dollar greenback that Dr. Bateman had given me as a memento; he had picked it up on the battle-field of Chickamauga.
As we were to be some time on the road, I set my wits to work to see what I could hunt up in the way of provisions. I went to Mrs. Dr. Redwine, and she promised to give me what she could. I then tried to get some eggs, and other things, for the sheets I had with me, but did not succeed. I found it impossible to sell them, as there was no money about. Bartering was the order of the day.
I went to see Mrs. Nutt, and had a hearty laugh at her; she was so earnest, bartering away for food every little household article she had. One calico dress, which she was trying to dispose of, she paid the moderate sum of five hundred dollars for. A friend told me she had paid five hundred dollars for a calico dress, six hundred for a pair of cotton cards, and twenty for a bar of brown soap.
The morning I started, Mrs. Brooks had some nice ham, cake, and biscuit ready for me. Mrs. Redwine sent the same. Mrs. Dr. Reesse brought me a present of some cakes and eggs; Dr. Berry, some ham. On the whole I was pretty well supplied, considering the times.
Many of my friends came to see me off; Miss Taylor, her sister, Mrs. Brooks, and Dr. Hughes. I remarked that I should ever remember Newnan with pleasure, as every one had been so kind. A friend answered me, saying that my opinion was different from that of some soldiers lately there; they said it was the meanest place on the earth.
A little while before the armistice, our cavalry, passing through there, begged corn for their horses, but got none. As soon as the enemy came on their last raid, the same people who refused our men sold corn to the Federals; but perhaps the people were very much in want of the money.
We got on the freight train, and after starting, the conductor came for our fare. He charged me four dollars to go to West Point; that took all the money I had except fifty cents. I forgot for the moment that I had been in the service, and did not tell the conductor, or, I expect he would not have charged any thing.
We reached West Point about two hours before sunset, and such a scene as I saw there I never shall forget. The river was gliding as smoothly as if the enemy had never been there to disturb the quiet. The fine bridge that spanned it had been destroyed, and every way the eye turned was ruin and desolation. The depot and warehouse were a pile of blackened bricks. The banks were covered with the men of our army returning to their homes. The faded gray uniform was seen every-where. There were some half a dozen “blue-coats” standing by themselves, as much alone as if they had been in the Desert of Sahara, instead of in the midst of a people whom they claimed to have conquered. I almost pitied their loneliness. I thought they looked ashamed of themselves; or, rather, as if they had been guilty of a wrong for which they were sorry.
We had to remain some few hours on the banks of the river, as there was nothing to take us across but a flat and a few small boats. The scene was a most impressive one. I wish I had been gifted with the pencil of an artist, so I could have drawn a picture. Nature never looked more beautiful to me, and when the setting sun flung his rays over the grand old trees and scattered groups, as if to remind us that there was something more than the present, which no foe could take away:
“A vision fell solemn and sweet,
Bringing gleams of a morning-lit land;
I saw the white shore which the pale waters beat,
And I heard the low lull as they broke at their feet,
Who walked on this beautiful strand.
And I wondered why spirits should cling
To their clay, with a struggle and sigh,
When life’s purple autumn is better than spring,
And the soul flies away, like a sparrow, to sing
In a climate where leaves never die.”
The whole scene reminds me of the children of Israel sitting on the banks of the Euphrates:
“Insulted, chain’d, and all the world a foe,
Our God alone is all we boast below.”
The last time I was there we were suffering, but free. Some other families and ourselves were the last to cross over. In the crowd were two young ladies, who seemed to be returning home. They evidently had run with their valuables from some of the raids; with them were two negro women, who had charge of their trunks. A Federal officer, who seems to be the post commandant, was standing near this group. One of the young ladies pointed to a trunk, and told the servant to take care of it, as it was filled with silver. The negro said to her, please speak lower, as the Yankees will hear you, and steal it. I looked at the officer, but he never raised his head. Perhaps the remark hit him!
We put up at a large hotel, which we were told the enemy had left standing in pity for the proprietor, Mr. Camp, who had both of his eyes shot out while helping to defend the place at the time of its capture. I have been told that at that time the garrison in the fort consisted of seventy-five men of Massingale’s battery. The citizens, old men and boys, amounting to about forty, joined them. They defended it manfully, for six hours, against twenty-five hundred of the enemy. We lost fifteen in killed, and some wounded. The enemy destroyed two bridges, the depot, some very valuable flour mills, and other property.
My money being all gone, Captain Nutt kindly offered to pay my expenses. He had got his money by selling two horses. Some of the rebels kept up a great noise all night, singing “Dixie,” and hurrahing for Jeff. Davis. I thought they would have to be informed that they were “whipped” as they did not seem to be aware of the fact.
The next morning, the 18th, we were aroused by the information that we could go a few miles further on a wood-car. As the expected wagon was not there, Captain Nutt resolved to take the car. In the hurry of leaving, woman-like, Mrs. N. forgot a very precious bottle of camphor, and I took a coffee-pot full of coffee, and ran with it. When the conductor came for our fare, I told him who I was; he said, all right, and passed on. We had quite a pleasant ride, as we had the full benefit of the breeze.
Our next stopping-place was on the banks of a creek or river. The bridge having shared the fate of the others, we had to cross in a small boat. The owner would take nothing but Confederate money as ferriage, and charged seventy dollars. Captain Cloud said he felt like giving three cheers for the Confederacy, as there still seemed to be a spot of it left.
We climbed a very steep hill, which was hard on the children. Captain Nutt’s men carried my baggage, which consisted of a trunk and a large bundle. Mrs. N., like a true soldier, had none but what she could carry in her hand.
After walking about a mile, we came to a house inside of a very pretty park. We went into the park, and remained there nearly all day. The house was large, and some two or three hundred yards from the road. The trees around it were magnificent, and put me in mind of dear old Tennessee. The sun was in a cloud, and the breeze blew delightfully through the trees, which had a very soothing effect after our hot walk. The park was filled with other stragglers besides ourselves, rebels returning to their homes. Many of them stretched themselves on the grass to rest, as they had doubtless done many times in camp. We looked like a real band of gipsies; Captain C. and myself called Mrs. N. the queen. As we knew no way of getting on, we were “trusting to luck,” for something to “turn up.”
Captain C. is a Kentuckian, and was outlawed by the governor of that state. He seemed much grieved because he could not go home to see his mother and sisters.
He related many an incident about his late general, John Morgan; said he arrived at the place where the general was killed a little while after the deed was done. When the men heard of their general’s death, they wept like children:
“A child will weep at bramble’s smart,
A maid to see her sparrow part,
A stripling for a woman’s heart;
But woe awaits a country, when
She sees the tears of bearded men.”
Not even the noble Douglas himself had the hearts of his countrymen more than had this dauntless chief.
Captain Nutt was a lawyer in Shreveport, Louisiana, and entered the army at the first call of his country. He commanded a company of scouts, and saw service in the Virginia and Tennessee armies; he was wounded and a good while a prisoner. His wife went through the lines and remained with him until he was released. She told me that, on arriving at Richmond on her return south, the ladies crowded around her, she expecting the first question to be, how is our cause progressing in the North? but no, the fashions were all they cared for. She became so thoroughly disgusted with them that she wrote a letter to Vice-president Stevens on the subject, asking him to comment on it, and have the whole published; but she had looked in vain for the appearance of the article in the papers.
Mrs. N. is a true southern woman, and when she had the good of the cause in view, could not be daunted. I could not but compare her to the wife of Pantheus, that noble Spartan woman who followed her husband to Africa, and after his death met hers with so much fortitude.
We commented a good deal upon a report that was going the rounds: It seems that before the surrender of Richmond the dead-letter bag was opened, and on reading the letters from the soldiers’ wives, nearly all were begging the men to desert! Many of the gentlemen now are blaming the women for our failure. I do not altogether agree with them, for I think if the truth was wholly known, the rich people who remained at home and did nothing for the soldiers’ families, are greatly to blame. In the afternoon the gentlemen managed to procure a wagon which took all the baggage and the children.
There was a party from Helena, Arkansas, who, like ourselves, were trying to get home. The wife and child of one of the gentlemen rode in the wagon; Mrs. N. and myself preferred walking.
A little while before dark we reached a small town, called Cussetta. There was but one hotel in the place, and it has left an indelible impression on my mind time will never efface. It was in a most dilapidated condition, and when the children walked on the upper gallery they ran the risk of falling into the street. We were given two rooms which opened on the gallery. The floors were so covered with tobacco spit and other filth, that even to walk on them with thick shoes was disagreeable. As it was the only shelter here we had to put up with it. We had our own edibles with us, so got along pretty well.
Our Arkansas friends were at the same hotel with us. They told me that the loyal people of Arkansas had suffered much by the war. The lady had an aunt who was an invalid, and lived in a beautiful house surrounded by all the comforts of home. Some of the enemy went to her house, and without any provocation, except her southern proclivities, carried her out, and fired her house. Such things were quite common.
Riding one day with a very beautiful young lady from that state, she told me that many a time she had stood at her room window, and saw our troops shoot down these vandals, and with great vehemence she said, “I clapped my hands with delight, when I saw the robbers fall.” I looked at her, as she spoke, in wonder that any one so gentle and lovely could feel such hate, and I made a few remarks on the subject. She said, “Yes, it is all very well for you to talk thus, you who have never known the wrongs that we have had to endure; you know nothing about the war.” She was about right; for as much trouble as I have seen, I have been spared the evil of ever coming in contact with the enemy except as prisoners.
Hundreds of rebels passed and re-passed all the time. Some were from Lee’s army, going south, others from the Mississippi and Gulf department, going north. They were much quieter than might have been supposed. One band of them occupied an empty store, near us, and sang hymns nearly all night. General Allen and his staff, with some wagons, passed. I bought two ounces of coffee from a woman who had a pound of it, and paid her twenty cents in silver. Captain N. replenished his larder. He bought some nice fried chickens from a farmer, who also gave us a pitcher of sweet milk. We left this delectable place, in a wagon, on the 20th, much relieved to get away from it. Arrived at Opelaka the same day, and was disappointed at finding no way of getting on further. General Bragg and his staff stopped awhile there. As they were to pass through Tuskeega they kindly offered to take my baggage in their wagon. They would have taken us, but their horses were almost broken down, having come so far. Captain N.’s men then left us, as we had no idea when we should get away from there, and they were anxious to return to their homes. They were all from Louisiana, and had been with the captain through the whole campaign. They fairly venerated him, and told me that he had cared for them as if they had been his relatives. I was grateful for their kindness to me on this trip. I found them, as I have nearly always found the southern soldiers, true gentlemen. Opelaka is sixty-seven miles from Montgomery; is a post village of Russell county. A railroad runs from there to Columbus, Georgia. The enemy seemed to have done little damage there in the way of destroying private property. The depot and warehouses were in ruins; and we saw the remains of a number of cars; their ruins were to be seen all along the road.
We took a walk in the afternoon around the fortifications. Quite a large fort commanded the Columbus and Montgomery road. As far as the eye could reach, the trees had been cut down to prevent the enemy from having a cover. We saw another fort; it enclosed a very pretty house. There are three or four churches there: the Episcopal, Methodist, Baptist, and I believe, a Presbyterian. Dr. Hedges, of New Orleans, lives near there, and has charge of the Episcopal Church. He had an appointment elsewhere, so the church was closed on Sunday the 21st.
I spoke to some men returning from Mississippi. They looked weary and sick. One had been wounded in his foot. They had been with the army in Mobile, and told me there had been no fighting in the city; which information relieved my mind a good deal.
Many Confederate soldiers passed us, with their clothes in rags, and almost barefooted. At any time, on looking down the road, these poor fellows could be seen, wending their weary way home. The sad remnant of a brave but unfortunate army.
The hotel we put up at was a great contrast to the one we had just left, as all about it was neat and clean.
On the 22d a locomotive and tender came from Columbus, Georgia, to take us a little further. While getting ready to start, the gentleman told Mrs. N. and myself to hurry, or we should not get a place, as there were so many soldiers going, and southern chivalry was played out. But they were mistaken; for as soon as we made our appearance the soldiers made room for us.
We crowded the engineer so much that he could scarcely work the engine. After going a short distance we came across two freight cars, and coupled them on the engine—fortunate for us, as in a few minutes afterward a heavy shower of rain fell. In the car were a number of officers, Mississippians.
It was quite amusing to hear all giving their opinions as to the cause of our failure; each having his own ideas on the subject. The merits and demerits of our generals were fully discussed; and as to forming an opinion of them from what we hear, is simply out of the question. I have heard some say that Lee was no general, and that Johnston was much his superior. Another says the reverse; and some, that Morgan did us more harm than good. I repeated the remark of a friend, that he believed General Bragg was one of our best generals; and a gentleman answered, that my friend must be deranged. I replied, that perhaps he would say the same of him.
Our conversation next turned on Napoleon. From some remark I made about him, a friend said, he did not think I liked him. I answered, that I could not glorify him as I heard many do, though no one could help being struck with awe and admiration at his meteor-like genius. But I could not like any man who made ambition his god, and every thing subservient to his love of power; and one who had broken the most sacred tie on earth, and waded through the best blood of his countrymen to gain it; thereby bringing woe and desolation where, had he loved glory less, and his country more, would have been peace and prosperity. I might have told him that I disliked him for the same reason that the children of to-day, in after years, may hate the Federals; as my mother’s father was imprisoned by him many years. And when I thought of our hatred toward our enemy of to-day, another circumstance came up before me: The forefathers of perhaps all those about me then, had fought against mine; and my fraternal grandfather, when a midshipman, was captured by the redoubtable Paul Jones. By the way, here is another proof that the colonies had foreign aid, for Paul Jones was a Scotchman, and his familiarity with the rocks and shoals around his native coast made him the successful privateer that he was there.
After we had gone some few miles we came to a creek, and got out. The bridge here had been a very large one. In its destruction the main portion of it had fallen into the water, which made a pathway for us to go on. We met some soldiers, who carried the children over. They were fine-looking men from Missouri. They were outlawed by their own state, and were on their way to join Kirby Smith. Mrs. N. and myself remained on the bank of the creek while Captain N. went in search of a conveyance to take us to Tuskeega, some four miles distant. The name of this place was Chehaw. In wandering along the banks I came across two springs of delightful, cool water, which was a great treat, as the day was very warm. Near the springs was a pathway over which the trees and shrubbery made a dense covering, which the sun’s rays could scarcely penetrate. The whole scene was wild and solemn. I gazed at the ruins the enemy had made round it, and thought how beautiful were all of God’s works till man defaced them!
Mrs. N. and I were so much pleased with the prospect, that we concluded to remain there all night if the captain failed to get a conveyance, as we were both going home without having ever “camped out.” The grass was so green and fresh-looking, compared with the floors of the hotel at Cusetta, that the fear of getting into another such a house made us firmer in our resolution. After staying there some few hours, Captain N. came back, unsuccessful, but said there was a small house near, where we could go. In vain we protested against leaving our rural retreat, but the captain was inexorable, and said if we remained there all night we would have chills by next morning, so we had to obey our commander, pack up our “truck,” and go. The sun was very hot, and we had some quarter of a mile to walk. The children, three little girls, (the oldest eight years of age,) stood the journey like soldiers, with the exception of the youngest, (a little beauty, named Nannie,) who broke down when half way to the house. Her mother told her that she was no “rebel” if she cried in that way. We remained at that house some few hours. There was no one in it except one or two negroes, who were in the kitchen. The rebels were still on the go, returning to their respective homes. One, from Lee’s army, a fine-looking young man, badly wounded in the arm, came into the house to rest. The merits of our respective generals was again the subject of discussion. When the young man heard General Lee disparaged, I thought we were going to have a battle; but it was only one of words, and did no harm. The young man said, the first thing he intended doing, after he arrived home, was to get married. I heard many of the soldiers say the same.
At a little before sundown, Captain N. procured a wagon. The children, Captain C, (who was suffering from the effects of an old wound, and could scarcely walk,) and myself got in. Mrs. and Captain N. walked. We went, at what is termed, “snail’s pace.” There were three mules drawing us, that had been on the go all day. When half way on the road we stopped at a very pretty place. The inmates were refugees, from Kentucky, old friends of Captain N.’s. They came out to see us, and brought us some nice fresh water. Our driver was a good old negro man, and a member of the Methodist Church, and seemed very religious. We arrived at Tuskeega about 10 o’clock at night. As we entered the town we were greeted by the perfume of the cape jasmine, which filled the air. We put up at a nice hotel, where we had pure coffee, and, in fact, the table was supplied with every thing to be had in peace times. It was kept by an excellent gentleman, Mr. Kelly, whose son had just returned from General Forrest’s army. Captain C. and he were old friends.
On the 23d, the gentleman tried to get a wagon to take us the rest of our journey, but failed; so we had to make the best of our lot, and remained contented, hoping that some good genius would send us a conveyance.
Tuskeega is the capital of Macon county, Alabama, and is forty miles east-by-north from Montgomery. It is a pretty town, and has some very fine buildings in it, and an excellent college for the education of young ladies. The flower gardens exceeded every thing for beauty I had ever beheld. I never saw the cape jasmine in such profusion.
I walked through the place with our host’s daughter, and I think I met more pretty girls than I had ever seen before, and they were very gaily dressed. The people there have felt the war very little. Raiders passed through the town, from Montgomery, on their way to Columbus, Georgia, just before the war closed, but did little or no damage to the place, as they were in a hurry to reach Columbus. Some of the citizens, it seemed, had sent a petition to the commandant at Montgomery, requesting him to send Federal troops there to garrison the town. The windows of my room were near where a knot of men were seated. As I sat by it I could not help hearing their conversation. The majority of them were condemning the senders of the petition, as this was a quiet little town, and had no need of the garrison. One of the group was accused of having signed it, which he stoutly denied, but said he had never favored secession or the war.
While Captain C. and myself were in the parlor, looking over some books, a lady called on Miss K.; in the course of conversation the latter informed her that the Federals were expected to garrison the town. The lady replied, “I am so glad, as it will be such a nice change.” I looked at Captain C.; the blood mounted to his face, and he muttered between his teeth, “Is this the kind of women I have been fighting for?”
I called on Mrs. John Battle of Mobile, who has been living there for some years, to see if she could tell me anything about Mobile, or if she knew of any conveyance for us. She could give me no information, excepting that the enemy were behaving very well to the citizens of Mobile. She had suffered by the late raid. On hearing that they were coming, she had sent her carriage horses and other valuables into the woods; the horses and the negro man with them were captured; the negro made his escape, and brought the intelligence that the Federals could not get the horses to work under the saddle, and had shot them.
We left Tuskeega on the 26th, in a wagon without a cover; but we had two very large umbrellas. We started about an hour before sunrise, and the first thing that greeted our sight, on leaving the town, was the Federal encampment; they had arrived the night before, and were busy getting breakfast. I looked at them through curiosity, as this was the first camp of them I had seen, excepting as prisoners. The rest of the party gazed into vacancy rather than look at them. They had some negro women and children with them, the most squalid and miserable looking creatures I ever beheld. We met some few negro men going to join them. The negro boy that drove us made a good deal of fun of them for going, and told them they had better keep away, as the Yankees were hanging all the darkies they could catch; and that we had just seen some hanging as we passed. We met an old man hobbling to them; the owner of the wagon was with us, and told us that this old man had been treated by his owner as one of his own family.
About 12 o’clock A. M., we stopped at a charming spot, where there was a delightful grove of oaks. There we alighted, for the purpose of taking dinner and resting in the shade. I went to a house near, and the lady of it gave me the privilege of making coffee. She also gave us a large pitcher of sweet milk, for which she would take no money. I think her name was Elder. She related a horrible tragedy that had lately happened near there. A negro woman killed her little child so that she might with greater facility go to the Federals; her negro companions, without trial, burned her.
After resting for awhile we started on our journey, and two or three times came near having a disaster, the mules taking fright at the dead horses and cattle of all kinds that strewed the way; the enemy had killed what they had no use for. Some parts of the road were very bad, and we could scarcely drag through it.
We met hundreds of negro men, women, and children, returning to their homes from Montgomery, where they had been with the Federals, and had had a taste of freedom; and to judge from their looks it had brought them any thing else but happiness. As we journeyed along we sang the laments of Ireland, as they best accorded with our feelings. Moore’s and Campbell’s songs were duly appreciated. We felt that the “Exile of Erin” and “Tara’s Halls” described realities. Our conversation was not at all cheerful. We spoke of the terrible past and the gloomy future. Some say that it is a disgrace to be living after our country has gone.
Even the wind had a melancholy sound, and seemed to sigh and moan through the woods as if lamenting with us o’er our buried hopes, and the graves of that unconquered band of heroes, whose names are radiant with immortality:
“The flowers of the forest, that fought, aye the foremost,
The prime of our land are cauld in the clay.
We’ll hear na mair liltin, at the ewe milkin,
Women and bairns are heartless and wao;
Sighin and moanin on ilka green loamin,
The flowers of the forest are a wede away.”
We commented on the cause of our failure; first one thing was blamed for it, then another. There is no doubt but we as a whole might have done better, but it would only have prolonged the war, for the North, with a determination which seemed demoniacal, was bent on our subversion. Why the enemy were permitted to work their fiendish purposes, is still in oblivion. The unfolding future will lift the vail which is enveloping us, and then, I trust, all shall be revealed. “God is his own interpreter.” Let us trust him for his grace, and remember that “no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless, afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.”
As we neared Montgomery the country presented a rich appearance. We passed quite a number of plantations, with very neat houses on them, and luxuriant flower gardens; some few of the houses were magnificent buildings. The whole wore an air of prosperity; the evil effects of the war had certainly not been felt there.
We had heard so much about the ladies of Montgomery and Mobile having given the Federals a warm reception, that we were disposed to accuse every lady we met on the road of the same crime, and take every man we met for a Yankee.
Some members of our party were bitter against the Alabama girls for acting as report said they had done. A very beautiful girl passed us on horseback, accompanied by a fine-looking young man. They were certain the latter was a Yankee. To be sure of it, they stopped and asked a lady and gentleman who were passing, and were told that he had been a Confederate staff officer. We next passed a company of ladies and gentlemen, who seemed to be a bridal party. They concluded directly that an Alabama girl had been marrying a Yankee. I found it useless to try and defend the women of my state against such ocular proof of their guilt.
The woods and roadside were filled with wild flowers; we saw numbers of the sensitive plant in full bloom, and the flower of it is very beautiful. We saw many trees with the same leaf and flower, only much larger. We pulled some of the branches, and found that the leaves did not close like the plant’s. This tree in full bloom was gorgeous.
At dark we stopped at a house about twelve miles from Montgomery. It was untenanted, but we found some negroes in the kitchen who gave us an unfurnished room to lodge in for the night. An old negress brought us in a mattress from her own bed and put it on the floor. Mrs. N. spread a blanket for the children; the gentlemen lodged in the hall. I did not like the idea of sleeping on the mattress, but Mrs. N. did not seem to mind it; as it was the best we could get, and we were weary with our days jolting, we wrapped ourselves in our shawls and slept on it very soundly.
We got up at 4 o’clock the next morning, 27th instant—it was dark as Erebus— and started on our journey. When within a short distance of Montgomery, we came to the Federal encampment, and the headquarters of the commanding general, where the gentlemen had to have their paroles inspected. They did not remain long, and on their return said they were politely treated.
The Federals displayed good taste in selecting their camp ground. It was on a slight eminence and amidst the finest forest of trees I ever beheld. The sun was an hour high, and its golden rays came glimmering through the trees, mantling them with a flood of glory. As we rode on, camp after camp came in view, filled with the mighty host, who had taken this fair heritage from us. The men with us said little or nothing. They seemed to be trying to keep from giving utterance to the indignation they felt at seeing their native land in the hands of the conqueror.
“The soldier’s hope, the patriot’s zeal,
Forever dimmed, forever cross’d—
O, who shall say what heroes feel
When all but life and honor’s lost!”
O, I felt so sad! visions of the terrible past would rise in review before me—the days, weeks and months of suffering I had witnessed—and all for naught. Many a boyish and manly face, in the full hey-day of life and hope, now lying in the silent tomb. But it is not the dead we must think of now:
“They live immortal, and for them
We need not drop the tear;
Each wears a golden diadem,
In a celestial sphere.
But we must weep—ay, deeply mourn
For our own selves bereft;
The priesthood from our altars torn,
Our homes in darkness left;
The widowed and the orphan band,
On fate’s rude waters toss’d,
Weep for the anguish-stricken land
That such great souls has lost!”
We were a solemn company as we rode into Montgomery, and the sights greeting us there did not by any means dispel the gloom. The stars and stripes were floating over many of the large buildings. Federal officers and privates were standing in groups and thronging the streets.
We stopped at the Exchange Hotel, and found in the parlor quite a number of refugees—French people—returning to New Orleans. With all the characteristics of that light-hearted people, they were playing the piano and singing, apparently enjoying themselves, just as if there never had been one dark hour in our sunny land. I do not know but that this cheerfulness displayed a good deal of wisdom. They had done their duty—had failed—found it was vain to repine for what was already gone, and were
“Acting in the living present,
Heart within and God o’erhead.”
Captain N. concluded to go to Mobile by the river. I made up my mind to take the cars, being much the quickest way. I was very anxious to reach home, as I had not heard from there for three months. To add to my anxiety, news had reached Montgomery of a terrible gunpowder explosion in Mobile. Captain N. had paid out a good deal of money on my account, and I wished to repay him before leaving. I had an order for transportation, with which I hoped to get a ticket from the Federals to take me on the cars. Handing my order to Capt . N., I called on Mrs. Dr. Scott to see if I could not borrow enough to pay my debts, but I found her as poor as myself. She had been in the possession of five dollars, made from selling vegetables, but had given it to the doctor, who had gone to Pensacola, with naught but that large amount to pay his way.
She introduced me to Colonel Jones, superintendent of the Pensacola road, who told me if I could not get my passage from the Federals, he would give me a note to Mr. Jourden, the superintendent of the Mobile and Great Northern Railroad, and I could pay him on my arrival in that city.
Mrs. Scott told me that the people in Montgomery had suffered much by the Federal soldiers.
She had been nearly frightened to death by a negro soldier. He demanded all her valuables; and when she refused, he cursed her, and held his drawn sword over her head, threatening to kill her. She thinks, had it not been for her seeming bravery and a negro servant-woman who stood by and protected her, he would have done so. She had a guard around her house for days afterward. A horse was stolen from her by some of the soldiers. On informing the commanding general, he gave her another in return. She has lost a great deal by the war, but she has only shared the fate of many, many others.
I was told there was a great deal of destitution in the city. People that were wealthy before the close of the war were then living on rations drawn from the Federals.
From all I heard and saw I do not believe that the ladies of Montgomery were accepting any attentions from the Federals. I scarcely saw one while there, and the last time I passed through the streets were thronged with them.
I believe there was little or no fighting at the capture of Montgomery; so it did not suffer like Selma, which I am told is in ruins. The Presbyterian clergyman of that place was killed in the trenches, and many other citizens. Mr. Ticknor, the Episcopal clergyman, was wounded, and a friend told me that, after the place had been surrendered, the enemy went to Mr. Ticknor’s house and demanded some valuables that Mrs. T. had laid away, and whipped her till she was compelled to give them up. They did the same to many other ladies. The same friend told me that she saw the blood running in streams through the streets of Selma, from hundreds of slaughtered cattle. The enemy killed those they did not need, so we would have none to use for farming purposes.
Captain N. failed in getting transportation for me, so Colonel Jones very kindly gave me the order which he had promised. I went back to the hotel as empty-handed as I left it, so I could not pay my kind friend what I owed him.
I looked at my roll of Confederate money, and put it away with a sigh. Memories of what it once was came crowding upon me. Now
[1]” Representing nothing in God’s earth below,
And naught in the water beneath it;
As the pledge of a nation that’s dead and gone,
Keep it, dear captain, and show it;
Show it to those who will lend an ear
To the tale that this paper can tell—
Of liberty born, of the patriot’s dream,
Of a storm-cradled nation that fell.
Too poor to possess the precious ores,
And too much a stranger to borrow,
We issued to-day our promise to pay,
And hoped to redeem on the morrow.
The days rolled by, and the weeks became years,
But our coffers were empty still;
Coin was so rare the treasury did quake
If a dollar should drop in the till.
But the faith that was in us was strong indeed;
And our poverty well we discerned;
And this little check represented the pay
That our suffering veterans earned.
We knew it had hardly a value in gold,
Yet as gold the soldiers received it;
It gazed in our eyes with a promise to pay,
And each patriot soldier believed it.
But our boys thought little of price or pay,
Or of bills that were over due;
We know that if it brought us our bread to-day,
‘T was the best our poor country could do.
Keep it, it tells all our history over,
From the birth of the dream to its last;
Modest, and born of the angel Hope,
Like our hope of success it has passed.
I left Montgomery on the 26th, and the roads were so bad that I thought at one time we should never get to the end of our journey. It was a dreary trip to me, as, being left alone to my sad thoughts, I could more fully realize than ever before the state of our affairs. As we neared Mobile my heart sank within me at the desolate appearance of every thing. The explosion had laid whole squares in ruins, and destroyed a number of steamboats. Instead of the carriages and crowds of familiar faces that used to grace the landing on the approach of the steamer, nothing was to be seen but “blue coats,” cannon, and ammunition of all kinds.
On reaching home I found my family all well. My brother, along with his company, had done good service at Spanish Fort. The company lost, in killed, James W. Sampson, a brave youth, who was a native of Mobile, and W. B. Anderson, an excellent young Scotchman, and also had several wounded. The Twenty-first Alabama Regiment lost, in killed, Fitz Ripley, William Martin, William Hartenett, and others.
The fort at Blakely and Spanish Fort, on the eastern shore, were erected after the fall of the forts on the lower bay for the defense of Appalachee River. General St. John Liddel, under General Maury, had command of those forts at the time of the siege. They were manned by veteran troops of Missouri, Texas, Arkansas, Georgia, Mississippi—indeed, nearly every state in the Confederacy was represented in them. The garrison was a mere handful of men, who withstood manfully, for seventeen days, the assaults of more than ten times their number, besides the fire of a formible fleet of gun-boats.
We lost heavily, but did not yield until our ammunition was nearly exhausted and our forces almost surrounded. Colonel William E. Burnett of Texas, chief of artillery, was killed in Spanish Fort. He is spoken of in the highest terms as having been a good and brave soldier. General Gibson, with his gallant band of Louisianians, was the last to leave the forts. I have been told that, after the surrender, the negro troops acted like demous, and slaughtered our troops on all sides; the white Federal soldiers had to turn on them and shoot them before they would desist. But we must draw a mantle over these horrors.
Many of our men waded through the sloppy marshes, and when they reached the city they were covered with mud, and many of them with blood. During the siege the people did all in their power to render assistance to the garrison, and many of the old men went over with refreshments for the men, and to take care of the wounded.
Mobile has acted nobly in this contest. The main portion of her arms-bearing citizens were in the field, and those who were incapable of taking the field worked assiduously in relieving the wants of those who were in it, and they did every thing that could be done for the relief of the poor in the city. Her hallowed dead can be numbered by the score; scarcely a family but is enshrouded by affliction for the loss of one or more loved ones. She has given up the very flower of her youth and manhood as an oblation on the altar of freedom. The history of Mobile is, I expect, the history of every city in the South.
I found that the people of Mobile had been sadly misrepresented, and that instead of the joyful welcome given by the citizens to the triumphant army, the town had the quietness of the grave. Scarcely a soul was to be seen in the streets, excepting negroes. Every blind was closed, and the whole place looked more as if the plague had entered it, instead of its deliverers, as they call themselves.
Since then, there are but two or three ladies who have countenanced the enemy in any way, and now their old friends will have nothing to say to them. The ladies take no more notice of the Federal officers than if they were invisible, and a friend told me that they say they would much rather that the ladies would give them impertinence than treat them as they do. They have a fine band of music, which plays on the public square; have reviews, and display their fine trappings; give receptions; but all has been in vain; with few exceptions, the ladies are true to their dead. The color of blue is wholly ignored. I heard one little girl crying bitterly because her mother was going to put a blue ribbon on her hat. She said the Yankees might take her for one of them.
The negroes are free: and the poor creatures are acting like children out on a frolic. The main portion of the women do little else than walk the streets, dressed in all kinds of gaudy attire. All are doing their own work, as a negro can not be hired at any price. But they have behaved much better than we had any right to expect, as they have been put up to all kinds of mischief by the enemy. Many of them seem to despise the Federals, and it is not much wonder, as they treat them so badly.
A lady told me that they robbed a poor old woman, that she had left in her house in the country, of every thing that she had. They have treated all who fell into their hands in the same way. As a rule the Federal soldiers have behaved very well to the citizens; they are any thing but exultant—and they need not be, when they consider that they succeeded by overwhelming numbers alone. They found that they could gain nothing by fighting themselves, so they hired foreigners, and at last had to take the darky; and Sambo boasts that the rebels could not be conquered until he took the field. Many think if we had put negroes into the army at the start, that we should have had another tale to tell to-day; and I am confident that if we had freed the negro, we would have had the aid of foreign powers. I believe now that Great Britain was consistent in her hatred to slavery. And she dreaded bringing war upon her people, as she knew more about its horrors than we did. In this I can not blame her. We all know that the majority of her people sympathized with us, and did much to render us aid. To be sure the northerners got men and ammunition from her, but then they had money, which is a lever even with Britons. But all is gone now, and we must try and “let the dead past bury its dead!”
This year has developed the fate of the South. Time has revealed the utter loss of all our hopes. A change must pass over every political and social idea, custom, and relation. The consummation makes the year just passed ever memorable in our annals. In it gathers all the interest of the bloody tragedy; from it begins a new era, midst poverty, tears, and sad memories of the past. O, may we learn the lesson that all of this is designed to teach; that all things sublunary are transient and fleeting, and lift our souls to that which is alone ever-during and immutable—God and eternity! And forgetting the past, save in the lessons which it teaches, let us, as admonished in the following lines, redeem the time, live humbly, and trust God for future good.
The Years of Time[2]
The years go by us like a trooping band
Of Pilgrim Prophets, chanting requiems
Or dirges o’er buried hopes and joys
They, mocking, promised. As, behind
Their tomb-ward feet, the dusty vail of dim
Forgetfulness enshrouds their paling forms,
We hear the dying tones of man’s sad hymn,
And the trampings of their muffled feet, far down
The Everlasting Aisles. They come like kings,
And go like skeletons. The one just passed
Wore blooded armor — clanging — treading o’er
A bleeding, tearful, horrified humanity.
This Nemesis of Time, with mailed hand,
Smote creeds and polities and forms of state—
It smote the true and beautiful and good—
It smote on sea and shore—on hill and plain—
It smote with brand and blade and hostile hosts,
Infernal enginery, and all that gold
And brain and energy of hate invoked
To wreak its ghastly will.
Remorseless war—
All pitiless and dire and big with woe—
Enwreathed the faded year with gory crowns,
Engorged its maw with brother’s flesh and blood,
Lit up its path with torch of burning homes—
With blazing trains of flying shot and shell—
With lurid Phlegethons from guns and mines,
And, midst a wasted empire, paused to con
Its work of blood. But—
Let its wailings die
Like echoes heard in childhood’s troubled dreams,
Think not of nameless graves; of agonies
From mothers, wives, and maidens wrung; of groans
From man’s great heart; of wasted hall and hut —
Prolific fields in wilderness. Let some divine
Nepenthe give a swift oblivion!
The Miserere ends. Its record is
With God. In solemn thought, the human heart
In silence ponders sorrow’s Epic past,
And waits, in faith, God’s future benedictions.
The year has gone for aye. Far down the steeps
Of ancient time it stalks, in aspect grim,
To join the Brotherhood of Centuries.
Behind it drop the leaves and flowers brushed
By sweepings of its dabbled robes; while winds
And waves and light and sounds and blasted hopes—
While griefs and tears and bursting shrieks, and groans
Call out to its departing form, “Leave us,
Thou messenger of ill!”
Another year—
Another cheat—with necromantic spells,
With visage wreathed in blandest smiles of hope,
Behind the screen of Future Life, invokes
Our faith. Shall we be credulous again,
And trust to bubbles, nothing at the touch?
Let disappointments disenchant our hearts,
And lift them up to God. Redeem the year
With self-suppressions, prayers, and high resolves!
Live humbly, trusting God for future good!
Live not for Time, but for Eternity. See far
Beyond these eddies of events—these hours
Of joy and years of pain — the guerdon bright—
Immortal youth and changeless love and peace
And ever growing thought and deep’ning fields
Of grandeur—angels, seraphs, jeweled hosts,
And uncreated light. O, man! O, worm!
O, quenchless soul! O, child of God! These, these,
Survive the passions, names, and deeds,
And proud report of man—survive the globe—
Survive the lofty stars and moon and sun—
Survive the years—survive the grave—survive
In God, the trophies of redeeming love.
[1] The Metropolitan Record, under the caption “Too Good to be Lost,” says that the lines above wore written on the back of a Confederate bill. In a late number of the Montgomery Advertiser we find them published as an original contribution.— The South.
[2] The above sublime and instructive poem, which appeared originally in the Louisville Journal, is from the pen of Rev. W. IH. Platt, the excellent and gifted rector of Calvary Church, Louisville, Kentucky. He was for many years rector of St. Paul’s Church, Petersburg, Virginia, at which place he resided during its eventful siege, and ministered to the spiritual wants of the brave Virginia army. His church was struck many times by shells, and one entered his house and fell within a few feet of his wife.
