CHAPTERXXIII
Theadvance on Petersburg occurred on April2d, 1865. It was about 3.30 A. M. when our troops entered the city, and all were anxious to see the city so long besieged and coveted.
Two days later, on the 4th, a party of about twenty-five officers and ladies of the hospital, some well mounted, some in ambulances, started in high exultation for the conquered city. I was happy in being mounted on a beautiful white horse, with a crimson saddle cloth, loaned from United States Headquarters. I wore a dark blue habit with infantry buttons, a fatigue cap with chin strap, riding gloves, and carried a small whip. The horse acted as if trained for a circus, full of antics as a pet dog. In defiance of rein and whip he walked on every stray log, into ditches, or puddles of water in the road, first raising his haunches to feel if I were firm in the saddle, and travelled with a “lope” as easy as a rocking chair, so that after twenty-five miles I was not in the least tired.
We rode over the fields of the last skirmish, torn ground, destroyed entrenchments, the “Cheveaux de frieze,” broken and scattered among clothing, canteens and the general debris of a battle-field. At the outskirts of the city we saw great “gopher holes” dug in the sides of hills, where the inhabitants crowded daily to escape the shells that were constantly falling into the doomed city. In these holes they were safe until nightfall, when firing usually ceased and the weary women and children returned to their homes to sleep until another day. Shots passed through many houses but it was surprising that so little had been destroyed.
GENERAL WILCOXGENERAL O. B. WILCOX
GENERAL O. B. WILCOX
Having previously met General O. B. Wilcox, who was then in command of the city, we rode to his headquarters, where I introduced our party. He received us courteously, giving us a mounted escort, that no trouble might ensue while we made a tour of the almost deserted city. The windows were all closed, as for some national mourning. There was only one foolish demonstration, by some young women on a piazza, who made grimaces at our handsome officers, and gyrated their fingers at them in a most remarkable manner. I was sorry and indignant for this petty spite, but our brave men merely smiled without comment.
The houses were generally detached, small and shabby, showing little to interest beside occasional marks made by stray shot. While riding through the town we saw an old gentleman weeding his garden, and I made the excuse of asking for a glass of water, which was politely given. I said to him, “You appear to be taking things very quietly.”
In his strong Southern accent, he replied: “Oh yes; you uns have us beaten, and we might as well make the best of it and go to work.”
During this memorable day in Petersburg we had visited our old friend Bob Eden, who became editor of the Petersburg Progress, a Confederate paper, immediately after the occupation of the city; and he, like his comrades, was wild with joy at the turn of things, political and national.
The following from “Grant’s” Petersburg Progress appeared the day after our visit. The paper is still in my possession, but it has nearly fallen in pieces. There was no supply of printer’s blank paper, and the Confederates had been obliged to use one side of wall paper, or anything else that would hold print.
“Grant’s Petersburg Progress,Petersburg, Va., 1865, April 4th.Vol.1No.2Proprietors: Major R. C. Eden, Captain C. H. McCreary.Eternal vigilance is the price of peace, (and ten cents for our paper.)”
“Grant’s Petersburg Progress,Petersburg, Va., 1865, April 4th.
Vol.1No.2
Proprietors: Major R. C. Eden, Captain C. H. McCreary.
Eternal vigilance is the price of peace, (and ten cents for our paper.)”
I copy from one column the following significant advertisements:
“NOTICE”“All persons destitute of provision will apply as follows: In West Ward, to W. L. Lancaster, East Ward, to W. L. Lancaster, Central Ward, to W. L. Lancaster, South Ward, to W. L. Lancaster.”
“NOTICE”
“All persons destitute of provision will apply as follows: In West Ward, to W. L. Lancaster, East Ward, to W. L. Lancaster, Central Ward, to W. L. Lancaster, South Ward, to W. L. Lancaster.”
Surely there was little animosity when our troops cheerfully offered food and sustenance to the destitute, starving whites, as well as to the helpless negroes.
“AUCTION SALES”“To be sold cheap (if not badly sold already) all that singularly ineligible worthless property, known as the Southern Confederacy; for particulars apply to Jefferson Davis. N. B. Liberal terms to agents of Maximilian, Louis Napoleon or Victoria.”
“AUCTION SALES”
“To be sold cheap (if not badly sold already) all that singularly ineligible worthless property, known as the Southern Confederacy; for particulars apply to Jefferson Davis. N. B. Liberal terms to agents of Maximilian, Louis Napoleon or Victoria.”
In this same crude issue appears the following, probably the last notice of a sale of slaves that ever disgraced our nominally free country; now happily the home of freedom in very truth, though so long permitting, in the face of our boasted freedom, the sale of human beings.
“I will sell to the highest bidder, for cash, at Notoway Court House, on Thursday, the sixth day of April, next Court day, ten negroes belonging to the estate of Uriah Lipscomb, deceased.P. A. Lipscomb,Com. Co. Court Notoway.”“Editorial Comment—The above sale is postponed indefinitely; a different disposition of the property having been made by Mr. A. Lincoln, of the White House, Washington, D. C.”“Lady visitors: Our sanctum was yesterday graced by several ladies, and all of them loyal and of strong Union principles. The party composed of Miss H. P. (high private) Smith, Agent from New York State, Mrs. Colonel Logan, Mrs. Sample, Delaware Agent, and Mrs. Huron, Indiana Agent. Their presence was very acceptable, and did much to soothe and comfort us in our labor. They were under escort of Messers. Clark, Peek and Brown, of the Sanitary Commission.”
“I will sell to the highest bidder, for cash, at Notoway Court House, on Thursday, the sixth day of April, next Court day, ten negroes belonging to the estate of Uriah Lipscomb, deceased.
P. A. Lipscomb,Com. Co. Court Notoway.”
“Editorial Comment—The above sale is postponed indefinitely; a different disposition of the property having been made by Mr. A. Lincoln, of the White House, Washington, D. C.”
“Lady visitors: Our sanctum was yesterday graced by several ladies, and all of them loyal and of strong Union principles. The party composed of Miss H. P. (high private) Smith, Agent from New York State, Mrs. Colonel Logan, Mrs. Sample, Delaware Agent, and Mrs. Huron, Indiana Agent. Their presence was very acceptable, and did much to soothe and comfort us in our labor. They were under escort of Messers. Clark, Peek and Brown, of the Sanitary Commission.”
“THE TWO MINNIES”
By A Rebel Soldier
(Suggested by a letter from Minnie, saying that she prayed daily that the “Minnie” balls might spare me.)
“There is a Minnie that I love,And a “Minnie” that I fear,But the former is now absent,And the latter oft too near.But the Minnie prays for me each dayThat to “Minnie” I’ll not fall a prey.“The voice of one is soft and sweetThe other harsh and shrill—One only speaks to bless mankindThe other but to kill.And while Minnie prays for me each dayYankee “Minnie” seek me for a prey.“And when this sad war is over,Our independence won,I’ll bid adieu to Yankee “Minn”And seek the other one.And together render thanks each dayThat to Yankee “Minns” I never fell a prey.”
“There is a Minnie that I love,And a “Minnie” that I fear,But the former is now absent,And the latter oft too near.But the Minnie prays for me each dayThat to “Minnie” I’ll not fall a prey.“The voice of one is soft and sweetThe other harsh and shrill—One only speaks to bless mankindThe other but to kill.And while Minnie prays for me each dayYankee “Minnie” seek me for a prey.“And when this sad war is over,Our independence won,I’ll bid adieu to Yankee “Minn”And seek the other one.And together render thanks each dayThat to Yankee “Minns” I never fell a prey.”
“There is a Minnie that I love,
And a “Minnie” that I fear,
But the former is now absent,
And the latter oft too near.
But the Minnie prays for me each day
That to “Minnie” I’ll not fall a prey.
“The voice of one is soft and sweetThe other harsh and shrill—One only speaks to bless mankindThe other but to kill.And while Minnie prays for me each dayYankee “Minnie” seek me for a prey.
“The voice of one is soft and sweet
The other harsh and shrill—
One only speaks to bless mankind
The other but to kill.
And while Minnie prays for me each day
Yankee “Minnie” seek me for a prey.
“And when this sad war is over,Our independence won,I’ll bid adieu to Yankee “Minn”And seek the other one.And together render thanks each dayThat to Yankee “Minns” I never fell a prey.”
“And when this sad war is over,
Our independence won,
I’ll bid adieu to Yankee “Minn”
And seek the other one.
And together render thanks each day
That to Yankee “Minns” I never fell a prey.”
To see the victorious veterans of the Army returning and marching through Petersburg was a never-to-be-forgotten sight. As we sat, mounted, at the corner of a street, they marched by with easy swinging tramp, by hundreds and thousands, dust-begrimed, in faded threadbare blue uniforms that they had worn through many a bloody battle, and in which they had slept many nights, often in swamps, and mud on the battle-fields. The shabby knapsacks, battered canteens, ragged blankets, their well-polished old guns, the only fresh clean emblem in sight; and these for the most part were shouldered as if for a holiday, which in very truth it was, probably the happiest they ever enjoyed. Discipline of the tired host was quite forgotten, while the worn, faded, torn flags floated out proudly.
The Eighth Wisconsin Infantry had some time before sent home their mascot “Old Abe,” the hero of twenty battles and many skirmishes. This eagle was taken from its nest by an Indian and presented to Company C., where it became the pet of the regiment. During attacks he was carried at the front on a standard, near the flag,—sometimes held by a long cord or chain,—he would rise up flapping his great wings, and screeching defiance at the enemy loudly enough to be heard along the line. His reputation made thousands of dollars at fairs and elsewhere. His portrait was painted, and hangs in the Old South Church, Boston. The State pensioned Old Abe and supported an attendant to care for him. He died at last of old age, and his skin is stuffed and safely preserved in the state archives at Madison, Wisconsin.
As these men tramped to the music of the shrill fife and drum, that knew no rest that day, they sometimes joined in a great chorus, meanwhile cheering themselves hoarse, to the tunes of “Johnny Came Marching Home,” “Yankee Doodle,” and many an army song.
When some former patients recognized us, surgeons and nurses who had cared for them, they broke all bounds, and, with uncovered heads, dipped their tattered flags and fairly roared their thanks in grateful cheers, while we waved our caps and handkerchiefs in return and also cheered. The magnetism of a home-going victorious army spread like a prairie fire, not only from regiment to regiment, but extended to every individual in their presence, while a roar as if of ocean waves spread over the sea of happy men and women.
This was a day of great rejoicing and enthusiasm among soldiers and Northerners, never to be forgotten. Taking leave of our polite escort, and thanking General Wilcox for his kindness, the mounted party took a spirited gallop back to hospital camp.
Strict hospital discipline was relaxed and the men were singing “Home, Sweet Home,” “Yankee Doodle,” “John Brown’s Body,” “Marching Through Georgia,” and many other patriotic songs, enjoying them equally, until taps ordered “Lights out,” when the whole camp soon fell into peaceful dreams of home.
TAPS
“Night draws her sable mantle onAnd pins it with a star.”Darkness has come, and rest is wonBy those who thro’ the dusty way,Have marched their long and weary day.And now the bugler from his tentAcross the prairies far,Comes forth to blow the call.By him ’tis sent. The regimentWill hear and know the hour has comeFor sleep, until the rising sunShall summon one and all.Lights out! Lights out! The bugle’s clearNotes falling on the air,Sound to the ear now far, now near;Now almost ceasing, now enhancedBy echoes o’er that wide expanseOf prairies bleak and bare.Lights out! Lights out! From every lampThe light is seen to die.With measured tramp around the campThe sentries guard against their foes;The rest are wrapped in sweet reposeBeneath the starry sky.“Taps” falls far sweeter on the airThan any other sound.Like opiate rare, it soothes all care—To weary men a blessing seems—And pleasant are the soldier’s dreamsTho’ stretched upon the ground.Ah, Taps, thy mournful signal callFloats o’er a new-made grave,Thy soft notes fall where one from allLife’s weary march forever rests—Asleep. Where wild birds build their nests,Unmindful of the brave.John P. Force.
“Night draws her sable mantle onAnd pins it with a star.”Darkness has come, and rest is wonBy those who thro’ the dusty way,Have marched their long and weary day.And now the bugler from his tentAcross the prairies far,Comes forth to blow the call.By him ’tis sent. The regimentWill hear and know the hour has comeFor sleep, until the rising sunShall summon one and all.Lights out! Lights out! The bugle’s clearNotes falling on the air,Sound to the ear now far, now near;Now almost ceasing, now enhancedBy echoes o’er that wide expanseOf prairies bleak and bare.Lights out! Lights out! From every lampThe light is seen to die.With measured tramp around the campThe sentries guard against their foes;The rest are wrapped in sweet reposeBeneath the starry sky.“Taps” falls far sweeter on the airThan any other sound.Like opiate rare, it soothes all care—To weary men a blessing seems—And pleasant are the soldier’s dreamsTho’ stretched upon the ground.Ah, Taps, thy mournful signal callFloats o’er a new-made grave,Thy soft notes fall where one from allLife’s weary march forever rests—Asleep. Where wild birds build their nests,Unmindful of the brave.John P. Force.
“Night draws her sable mantle on
And pins it with a star.”
Darkness has come, and rest is won
By those who thro’ the dusty way,
Have marched their long and weary day.
And now the bugler from his tent
Across the prairies far,
Comes forth to blow the call.
By him ’tis sent. The regiment
Will hear and know the hour has come
For sleep, until the rising sun
Shall summon one and all.
Lights out! Lights out! The bugle’s clear
Notes falling on the air,
Sound to the ear now far, now near;
Now almost ceasing, now enhanced
By echoes o’er that wide expanse
Of prairies bleak and bare.
Lights out! Lights out! From every lamp
The light is seen to die.
With measured tramp around the camp
The sentries guard against their foes;
The rest are wrapped in sweet repose
Beneath the starry sky.
“Taps” falls far sweeter on the air
Than any other sound.
Like opiate rare, it soothes all care—
To weary men a blessing seems—
And pleasant are the soldier’s dreams
Tho’ stretched upon the ground.
Ah, Taps, thy mournful signal call
Floats o’er a new-made grave,
Thy soft notes fall where one from all
Life’s weary march forever rests—
Asleep. Where wild birds build their nests,
Unmindful of the brave.
John P. Force.
There were yet many patients, so that our work at the hospital went on as before, while waiting for further orders; while all soon became conscious of a general relaxation of the imperative discipline that had made our hospital a model of general courtesy, neatness, and order.