Kitabı oku: «Nurse and Spy in the Union Army», sayfa 17
CHAPTER XXVI
A UNIONIST FROM THE REBEL ARMY – HIS TESTIMONY – SOUTHERN HOSPITALS – PATRIOTISM – FEMALE RECRUITING – CRINOLINE – “SWEET LITTLE MAN” – CONFEDERATE SYSTEM – NORTH AND SOUTH CONTRASTED – REBEL IMPRESSMENT – BROTHERS’ CRUELTY – DYING FOR THE UNION – FATE OF A TENNESSEE PATRIOT – ON THE MISSISSIPPI – INVISIBLE ATTRACTION – AN IMPORTANT QUESTION – MORAL SUBLIMITY – CONTRABAND’S JUBILEE.
At one of the hospitals near Vicksburg I met a man who had served a year in the Confederate army, having been conscripted by the rebels, and remained that length of time before he found an opportunity to escape.
He was an educated, and highly intelligent young man, and it was deeply interesting to listen to his account of the Southern side of this rebellion. He told me that the Southern people, and especially the ladies, were much more patriotic than the people of the North.
After a battle, the citizens, both men and women, come with one accord to assist in taking care of the wounded; bringing with them, gratuitously, every article of comfort and convenience that their means will admit, and their patriotism suggest.
Farmers come to the hospitals with loads of provisions, and the women come with fruits, wines, jellies, etc., and cheerfully submit to the hardships and fatigue of hospital labor without the slightest remuneration. Said he: “The women down South are the best recruiting officers – for they absolutely refuse to tolerate, or admit to their society, any young man who refuses to enlist; and very often send their lovers, who have not enlisted, skirts and crinoline, with a note attached, suggesting the appropriateness of such a costume unless they donned the Confederate uniform at once.”
I have often thought of this trait of the Southern ladies’ character, and contrasted it with the flattering receptions so lavishly bestowed upon our able-bodied “home guards,” by the New-England fair ones who profess to love the old flag and despise its enemies. And I have wondered if an extensive donation of “crinoline” would not be more effectual in filling up our ranks, than graceful bows and bewitching smiles. And I would mildly suggest that each package of crinoline be accompanied by the following appropriate lines:
Now, while our soldiers are fighting our battles,
Each at his post to do all that he can,
Down among rebels and contraband chattels,
What are you doing, my sweet little man?
All the brave boys under canvas are sleeping,
All of them pressing to march with the van,
Far from their homes where their sweethearts are weeping;
What are you waiting for, sweet little man?
You, with the terrible warlike mustaches,
Fit for a colonel or chief of a clan,
You with the waist made for sword-belts and sashes,
Where are your shoulder-straps, sweet little man?
We send you the buttonless garments of woman!
Cover your face lest it freckle or tan;
Muster the apron-string guards on the common —
That is the corps for the sweet little man.
All the fair maidens about him shall cluster,
Pluck the white feathers from bonnet and fan,
Make him a plume like a turkey-wing duster —
That is the crest for the sweet little man.
Give him for escort a file of young misses,
Each of them armed with a deadly rattan,
They shall defend him from laughter and hisses
Aimed by low boys at the sweet little man.
And now, while I am contrasting the conduct of the North and South, I may as well give another testimony in favor of the confederate system.
The following testimony comes from one who has served in the rebel army in the capacity of surgeon. He says: “The confederate military authorities have complete control of the press, so that nothing is ever allowed to appear in print which can in any way give information to the North or prove a clue to Southern movements. In this it appears to me that they have an unspeakable advantage over the North, with its numberless papers and hundreds of correspondents in the loyal army. With what the correspondents tell and surmise, and what the Confederates find out through spies and informers of various kinds, they are able to see through many of the plans of the Union forces before they are put into execution. No more common remark did I hear than this as officers were reading the Northern papers: ‘See what d – d fools those Yankees are. General A – has left B – for C – . We will cut him off. Why the Northern generals or the Secretary of War tolerate this freedom of news we cannot imagine.’”
And he further adds: “Every daily paper I have read since I came North has contained information, either by direct statement or implication, by which the enemy can profit. If we meant to play into the hands of the rebels, we could hardly do it more successfully than our papers are doing it daily. Sure am I that if a Southern paper contained such information of their movements as do the Northern of ours, the editor’s neck would not be safe an hour. But some will say: ‘We often see information quoted from the Southern papers of their movements.’ Never, until the movement has been carried out. It is always safe to conclude, if you see in a Southern paper any statement with regard to the movement of troops, or that the army is about to do a certain thing, that it will not be done, but something different.”
Freedom of opinion and of the press is certainly a precious boon, but when it endangers the lives of our soldiers and frustrates the plans of our Government, surely it is time to adopt measures to control it, just as much as it is necessary to arrest the spies who come within our lines.
Another relates the following touching incident of the Southern style of increasing their army, and punishing offenders: “When the rebels were raising a force in Eastern Tennessee, two brothers by the name of Rowland volunteered. A younger brother was a Union man, and refusing to enlist, was seized and forced into the army. He constantly protested against his impressment, but without avail. He then warned them that he would desert the first opportunity, as he would not fight against the cause of right and good government. They were inexorable, and he was torn from his family and hurried to the field. At the battle of Fort Donaldson, Rowland escaped from the rebels in the second day’s fight, and immediately joined the loyal army. Though now to fight against his own brothers, he felt that he was in a righteous cause, and contending for a worthy end. In the battle of Pittsburg Landing he was taken prisoner by the very regiment to which he had formerly belonged. This sealed his fate. On his way to Corinth several of his old comrades, among them his two brothers, attempted to kill him, one of them nearly running him through with a bayonet. He was, however, rescued by the guard, and brought to camp. Three days after the retreating army had reached Corinth, General Hardee, in whose division was the regiment claiming this man as a deserter, gave orders to have Rowland executed. About four o’clock in the afternoon, the same day, some ten thousand Tennessee troops were drawn up in two parallel lines, facing inward, three hundred yards apart. The doomed man, surrounded by the guard, detailed from his own regiment to shoot him, marched with a firm step into the middle of the space between the two lines of troops. Here his grave was already dug, and a black pine coffin lay beside it. No minister of religion offered to direct his thoughts to a gracious Saviour. The sentence was read, and he was asked if he had anything to say why it should not be executed. He spoke in a firm, decided tone, in a voice which could be heard by many hundreds, and nearly in the following words: ‘Fellow-soldiers, Tennesseeans – I was forced into Southern service against my will, and against my conscience. I told them I would desert the first opportunity I found, and I did it. I was always a Union man, and never denied it; and I joined the Union army to do all the damage I could to the Confederates. I believe the Union cause is right, and will triumph. They can kill me but once, and I am not afraid to die in a good cause. My only request is, that you let my wife and family know that I died in supporting my principles. My brothers there would shoot me if they had a chance, but I forgive them. Now shoot me through the heart, that I may die instantly.’
“After Rowland had ceased to speak, he took off hat, coat and neck-tie, and laying his hand on his heart, he said, “Aim here.” The sergeant of the guard advanced to tie his hands and blindfold him. He asked the privilege of standing untied, but the request was not granted. His eyes were bandaged, he knelt upon his coffin and engaged in prayer for several minutes, and then said he was ready. The lieutenant of the guard then gave the word, ‘Fire!’ and twenty-four muskets were discharged. When the smoke lifted, the body had fallen backward, and was still. Several bullets had passed through his head, and some through his heart. His body was tumbled into the rough pine box, and was buried by the men who shot him.”
Such was the fate of a Tennessee patriot, who was not afraid to declare his love for the Union, and his faith in its final triumph, in the very presence of some of the leading traitors, and of thousands of his rebellious countrymen, a moment, before sealing his patriotism with his blood.
On board of a transport, on the Mississippi river, as we glided toward our destination, I sat quietly listening to the variety of topics which was being discussed around me, until a peculiarly sweet voice caused me to turn and look in the direction from whence it proceeded.
Reader, has your heart ever been taken by storm, in consequence of the mere intonations of a voice – ere you beheld the individual who gave them utterance? On this occasion, I turned and saw “one of God’s images cut in ebony.” Time had wrinkled his face, and the frosts of four-score winters had whitened his woolly locks, palsied his limbs, and dimmed his vision. He had been a slave all his life, and now, at the eleventh hour, when “the silver cord was almost loosed, and the golden bowl well nigh broken,” he was liberated from bondage, and was rejoicing in freedom from slavery, and in that freedom wherewith Christ makes His children free.
By some invisible attraction, a large crowd gathered around this old, decrepid slave, and every eye was fixed upon his sable withered face, as he gave a brief and touching history of his slave life.
When he had finished, the soldiers eagerly began to ask questions – but suddenly the old colored man turned querist, and raising himself up, and leaning forward toward the crowd, he asked, in a voice strangely thrilling and solemn, “Are any of you soldiers of the Lord Jesus Christ?”
One looked at another with evident embarrassment; but at length some one stammered out – “We don’t know exactly; that is a hard question, Uncle.” “Oh no,” said he, “dat is not a hard question – if you be soldiers of Christ you know it, you must know it; de Lord does not do His work so poorly dat His people don’t know when it’s done. Now jes’ let me say a word more: Dear soldiers – before eber you lebe dis boat – before eber you go into anoder battle – enlist for Jesus; become soldiers ob de blessed Redeemer, and you are safe; safe when de battle rages, safe when de chills ob death come, safe when de world’s on fire.”
One of the men, desirous of changing the conversation, said: “Uncle, are you blind?” He replied: “Oh no, bless de Lord, I am not blind to de tings ob de spirit. I see by an eye ob faith my blessed Saviour sitting at de right hand ob God, and I’ll soon see Him more clearly, for Jesus loves dis old blind darkie, and will soon take him home.”
Now, when we talk of moral sublimity we are apt to point to Alexander conquering the world, to Hannibal surmounting the Alps, to Cæsar crossing the Rubicon, or to Lawrence wrapping himself in the American flag and crying “Don’t give up the ship!” But in my opinion here was a specimen of moral sublimity equal to anything that ever graced the pages of history or was ever exhibited upon a battle-field – a poor old, blind, palsied slave, resting upon the “Rock of Ages,” while the waves of affliction dashed like mountains at his feet; yet, looking up to heaven, and trusting in the great and precious promises, he gave glory to God, and triumphed over pain and disease, rejoicing even in tribulation.
While the old slave was talking to the soldiers a number of young darkies came forward, and when the conversation ceased they all struck up the following piece, and sang it with good effect:
Oh, praise an’ tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An’ massa tink it day ob doom,
An’ we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves,
He jes’ as strong as den;
He say de word – we las’ night slaves,
To-day de Lord’s free men.
Chorus – De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We’ll hab de rice an’ corn,
O nebber you fear if nebber you hear
De driber blow his horn.
Ole massa on his trabbles gone
He lebe de land behind;
De Lord’s breff blow him furder on,
Like corn-shuck in de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de plow,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
But neber chile be sold.
Chorus – De yam will grow, etc.
We know de promise nebber fail,
An’ nebber lie de Word;
So, like de ’postles in de jail,
We waited for de Lord.
An’ now He open ebery door,
An’ trow away de key,
He tink we lub Him so before,
We lub Him better free.
Chorus – De yam will grow, etc.
Then a collection was taken up among the soldiers and presented to the old blind colored man, who wept with delight as he received it, for said he – “I hab no home, no money, an’ no friend, but de Lord Jesus.”
CHAPTER XXVII
ARRIVAL AT VICKSBURG – ITS SURROUNDINGS – GRANT’S ARMY – ASSAULT ON THE REBEL WORKS – THE SEVEN COLOR-BEARERS – PEMBERTON’S HARANGUE – IN THE TRENCHES – SUFFERINGS OF THE WOUNDED – PEMBERTON’S PROPOSED CAPITULATION – GRANT’S REPLY – TERMS OF SURRENDER – OCCUPATION OF THE CITY – LOSS OF THE ENEMY – COMPLIMENTARY LETTER – GRANT’S SUCCESS – ATTACHMENT OF HIS SOLDIERS – “FIGHTING DICK” – GOLD LACE – REBEL SUFFERINGS – SIGHTS IN VICKSBURG – INCIDENTS OF THE SIEGE – CAVE LIFE.
Our troops at length joined General Grant’s army near Vicksburg, where those veterans had been digging and fighting so many weeks.
The city of Vicksburg is nestled among numerous terraced hills, and would under other circumstances present a magnificent and romantic appearance; but I could not at that time realize its beauty, for the knowledge of the sufferings and distress of thousands within its walls detracted materially from its outward grandeur.
The enemy’s works had consisted of a series of redoubts extending from Haines’ Bluff to the Warrenton road, a distance of some ten miles. It was a vast plateau, upon which a multitude of little hills seemed to have been sown broadcast, giving the enemy a position from which it could sweep every neighboring crest and enfilade every approach. But the rebels had already been driven from this position after a severe struggle.
On the twenty-second of May, at two o’clock in the morning, heavy guns were opened upon the rebel works, and continued until ten o’clock, when a desperate assault was made by three corps moving simultaneously. After a severe engagement and heavy loss the flag of the Seventh Missouri was planted on one of the rebel parapets, after seven color-bearers had been shot down.
After this contest the rebel general, Pemberton, addressed his men as follows: “You have heard that I was incompetent and a traitor, and that it was my intention to sell Vicksburg. Follow me, and you will see the cost at which I will sell Vicksburg. When the last pound of beef, bacon and flour, the last grain of corn, the last cow and hog, horse and dog shall have been consumed, and the last man shall have perished in the trenches, then, and not till then, will I sell Vicksburg.”
It became evident that the works could not be carried by assault, and that nothing but a regular siege could reduce the fortifications.
While the siege was in progress our soldiers endured hardships, privations and sufferings which words can but inadequately express. Our men were closely packed in the trenches, often in water to the knees, and not daring to lift their heads above the brow of the rifle pits, as the rebel sharpshooters lost no time in saluting every unfortunate head which made its appearance above ground.
The sufferings of the wounded were extreme. Those who were wounded during the day in the trenches nearest the city could not be removed until the curtain of night fell upon the scene and screened them from the vigilant eye of the enemy.
General Grant steadily approached the doomed city by means of saps and mines, and continued to blow up their defenses, until it was evident that another day’s work would complete the capture of the city.
Such was the position of affairs on the third of July, when General Pemberton proposed an armistice and capitulation.
Major General Bowen, of the Confederate army, was the bearer of a despatch to General Grant, under a flag of truce, proposing the surrender of the city, which was as follows:
Headquarters, Vicksburg,July 3d, 1863.
Major General Grant, commanding United States forces:
General – I have the honor to propose to you an armistice for – hours, with a view of arranging terms for the capitulation of Vicksburg. To this end, if agreeable to you, I will appoint three commissioners to meet a like number to be named by yourself, at such place and hour to-day as you may find convenient. I make this proposition to save the farther effusion of blood, which must otherwise be shed to a frightful extent, feeling myself fully able to maintain my position for a yet indefinite period. This communication will be handed to you, under flag of truce, by Major General James Bowen.
Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
J. C. PEMBERTON.
To which General Grant replied:
Headquarters, Department of Tennessee,In the Field, near Vicksburg,July 3d, 1863.
Lieutenant General J. C. Pemberton, commanding Confederate forces, etc.:
General – Your note of this date, just received, proposes an armistice of several hours for the purpose of arranging terms of capitulation, through commissioners to be appointed, etc. The effusion of blood you propose stopping by this course can be ended at any time you may choose by an unconditional surrender of the city and garrison. Men who have shown so much endurance and courage as those now in Vicksburg will always challenge the respect of an adversary, and, I can assure you, will be treated with all the respect due them as prisoners of war. I do not favor the proposition of appointing commissioners to arrange terms of capitulation, because I have no other terms than those indicated above.
I am, General, very respectfully, your obedient servant,
U. S. GRANT.
Then the following document was made out by General Grant, and submitted for acceptance:
General – In conformity with the agreement of this afternoon, I will submit the following proposition for the surrender of the city of Vicksburg, public stores, etc. On your accepting the terms proposed, I will march in one division, as a guard, and take possession at eight o’clock to-morrow morning. As soon as paroles can be made out and signed by the officers and men, you will be allowed to march out of our lines, the officers taking with them their regimental clothing, and staff, field and cavalry officers, one horse each. The rank and file will be allowed all their clothing, but no other property. If these conditions are accepted, any amount of rations you may deem necessary can be taken from the stores you now have, and also the necessary cooking utensils for preparing them; thirty wagons also, counting two two-horse or mule teams as one. You will be allowed to transport such articles as cannot be carried along. The same conditions will be allowed to all sick and wounded officers and privates as fast as they become able to travel. The paroles for these latter must be signed, however, whilst officers are present authorized to sign the roll of prisoners.
After some further correspondence on both sides this proposition was accepted, and on the fourth of July the Federals took possession of the city of Vicksburg.
A paragraph from General Grant’s official despatch will best explain the result of his campaign, together with the surrender of Vicksburg: “The defeat of the enemy in five battles outside of Vicksburg, the occupation of Jackson, the capital of the State of Mississippi, and the capture of Vicksburg and its garrison and munitions of war, a loss to the enemy of thirty-seven thousand prisoners, among whom were fifteen general officers, at least ten thousand killed and wounded, and among the killed Generals Tracy, Tilghman and Green, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of stragglers, who can never be collected and organized. Arms and munitions of war for an army of sixty thousand have fallen into our hands, besides a large amount of other public property, consisting of railroads, locomotives, cars, steamboats, cotton, etc., and much was destroyed to prevent our capturing it.”
On the thirteenth of July the President sent an autograph letter to General Grant, of which the following is a copy:
Executive Mansion, Washington,July 13th, 1863.
To Major General Grant:
My Dear General – I do not remember that you and I ever met personally. I write this now as a grateful acknowledgment for the almost inestimable service you have done the country. I wish to say a word further. When you first reached the vicinity of Vicksburg I thought you should do what you finally did – march the troops across the neck, run the batteries with the transports, and thus go below; and I never had any faith, except a general hope that you knew better than I, that the Yazoo Pass expedition and the like could succeed. When you got below and took Port Gipson, Grand Gulf and vicinity, I thought you should go down the river and join Banks; and when you turned northward, east of the Big Black, I feared it was a mistake. I now wish to make a personal acknowledgment that you were right and I was wrong.
Yours, very truly,A. LINCOLN.
It is stated on good authority that at the time the news of Grant’s success reached the President, there were several gentlemen present some of whom had just been informing Mr. Lincoln that there were great complaints against General Grant with regard to his intemperate habits. After reading the telegram announcing the fall of Vicksburg, the President turned to his anxious friends of the temperance question and said:
“So I understand Grant drinks whiskey to excess?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
“What whiskey does he drink?”
“What whiskey?” doubtfully queried his hearers.
“Yes. Is it Bourbon or Monongahela?”
“Why do you ask, Mr. President?”
“Because if it makes him win victories like that at Vicksburg, I will send a demijohn of the same kind to every general in the army.”
It is also stated on the same authority that General Grant is strictly temperate.
His men are almost as much attached to him as are the Army of the Potomac to General McClellan. He is a true soldier, and shares all the hardships with his men, sleeping on the ground in the open air, and eating hard bread and salt pork with as good a grace as any private soldier.
He seldom wears a sword, except when absolutely necessary, and frequently wears a semi-military coat and low crowned hat.
The mistakes which people used to make, when coming to headquarters to see the general, often reminded me of a genuine anecdote which is told of General Richardson, or “Fighting Dick,” as we familiarly called him. It occurred when the troops were encamped near Washington, and was as follows:
The general was sauntering along toward a fort, which was in course of erection not far from headquarters, dressed in his usual uniform for fatigue, namely: citizen’s pants, undress coat, and an old straw hat which had once been white, but was now two or three shades nearer the general’s own complexion.
Along came one of those dashing city staff officers, in white gloves, and trimmed off with gold lace to the very extreme of military regulations. He was in search of General Richardson, but did not know him personally. Reining up his horse some little distance from the general, he shouted: “hallo, old fellow! can you tell me where General Richardson’s headquarters are?”
The general pointed out the tent to him, and the young officer went dashing along, without ever saying “thank you.” The general then turned on his heel and went back to his tent, where he found the officer making a fuss because there was no orderly to hold his horse. Turning to General R., as he came up, he said: “Won’t you hold my horse while I find General R.?” “Oh yes, certainly,” said he.
After hitching the horse to a post near by for that purpose, the general walked into the tent, and, confronting young pomposity, he said in his peculiar twang, “Well, sir, what will you have?”
When the Federal troops marched into Vicksburg, what a heart-sickening sight it presented; the half-famished inhabitants had crawled from their dens and caves in the earth, to find their houses demolished by shell, and all their pleasant places laid waste.
But the appearance of the soldiers as they came from the entrenchments covered with mud and bespattered with the blood of their comrades who had been killed or wounded, would have touched a heart of stone.
The poor horses, and mules, too, were a sad sight, for they had fared even worse than the soldiers – for there was no place of safety for them – not even entrenchments, and they had scarcely anything at all to eat for weeks, except mulberry leaves.
One man, in speaking of the state of affairs in the city, during the siege, said: “The terror of the women and children, their constant screams and wailings over the dead bodies of their friends, mingled as they were with the shrieks of bursting shell, and the pitiful groans of the dying, was enough to appall the stoutest heart.” And others said it was a strange fact that the women could not venture out of their caves a moment without either being killed or wounded, while the men and officers walked or rode about with but little loss of life comparatively.
A lady says: “Sitting in my cave, one evening, I heard the most heart-rending shrieks and groans, and upon making inquiry, I was told that a mother had taken her child into a cave about a hundred yards from us, and having laid it on its little bed, as the poor woman thought, in safety, she took her seat near the entrance of the cave. A mortar-shell came rushing through the air, and fell upon the cave, and bursting in the ground entered the cave; a fragment of the shell mashed the head of the little sleeper, crushing out the young life, and leaving the distracted mother to pierce the heavens with her cries of agony.”
How blightingly the hand of war lay upon that once flourishing city! The closed and desolate houses, the gardens with open gates, and the poor, starving mules, standing amid the flowers, picking off every green leaf, to allay their hunger, presented a sad picture.
I will give the following quotation as a specimen of cave life in Vicksburg: “I was sitting near the entrance of my cave about five o’clock in the afternoon, when the bombardment commenced more furiously than usual, the shells falling thickly around us, causing vast columns of earth to fly upward, mingled with smoke. As usual, I was uncertain whether to remain within, or to run out. As the rocking and trembling of the earth was distinctly felt, and the explosions alarmingly near, I stood within the mouth of the cave ready to make my escape, should one chance to fall above our domicile.
“In my anxiety I was startled by the shouts of the servants, and a most fearful jar and rocking of the earth, followed by a deafening explosion, such as I had never heard before. The cave filled instantly with smoke and dust. I stood there, with a tingling, prickling sensation in my head, hands and feet, and with confused brain. Yet alive! was the first glad thought that came to me – child, servants, all here, and saved!
“I stepped out and found a group of persons before my cave, looking anxiously for me, and lying all around were freshly-torn rose bushes, arborvitæ trees, large clods of earth, splinters, and pieces of plank.
“A mortar-shell had struck the corner of the cave; fortunately, so near the brow of the hill, that it had gone obliquely into the earth, exploding as it went, breaking large masses from the side of the hill – tearing away the fence, the shrubbery and flowers – sweeping all like an avalanche down near the entrance of my poor refuge.
“On another occasion I sat reading in safety, I imagined, when the unmistakable whirring of Parrott shells told us that the battery we so much dreaded had opened from the entrenchments. I ran to the entrance to call the servants in. Immediately after they entered a shell struck the earth a few feet from the entrance, burying itself without exploding.
“A man came in, much frightened, and asked permission to remain until the danger was over. He had been there but a short time when a Parrott shell came whirling in at the entrance and fell in the center of the cave before us, and lay there, the fuse still smoking.
“Our eyes were fastened upon that terrible missile of death as by the fascination of a serpent, while we expected every moment that the terrific explosion would take place. I pressed my child closer to my heart and drew nearer the wall. Our fate seemed certain – our doom was sealed.
“Just at this dreadful moment, George, a negro boy, rushed forward, seized the shell, and threw it into the street, then ran swiftly in the opposite direction.
“Fortunately the fuse became extinguished and the shell fell harmless to the ground, and is still looked upon as a monument of terror.”
