Recollections of a Refugee

dawna

First Sergeant
Joined
Feb 20, 2005
Location
canada
<u>Recollections of a Refugee</u>

When Fort Sumpter was fired on I was a school boy twelve years of age and a resident of the quiet and at that time, unprogressive old town of Lynchburg, Virginia. My Father was a Union sympathizer, but had little or no influence over my political opinions. These were molded entirely by my school companions who, it is needless to say, were all loyal southerners and many of them gave up their lives in defense of their principles.

Slavery existed, but it was mild in comparison with the states farther south. There were no such Barbarities as is depicted in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”. Now and then there would be cases of apparent cruelty, but in the great majority of cases the slaves lived very happily with their masters. At the inter- section of Bridge and Main Streets stood the old Market House, the lower part a market, the upper part a jail. On the Main Street front there was a large block, very much like butchers used for chopping meat. On this block it was the custom to place slaves who were to be auctioned. I have seen men, women and children sold here to the highest bidder.

These sales made no impression on me at the time. I remember one case of cruelty that came under my observation which I no doubt would have long since forgotten but for a remark made by my Father, which proved prophetic, and was fulfilled in less than one year.

It was about a year before the war when Father and I were walking across a long narrow bridge that spanned a deep ravine on Church Street [This bridge I learn has long since been torn down and the ravine filled in] when we heard loud cries coming from a house at the end of the bridge nearest to Clay Street. When we approached we saw a white man flogging a Negro woman. Whether she deserved it or not, I do not know and did not care at that time and would as I said have forgotten the incident, but for the words my Father uttered. In his indignation, he turned and addressing no one in particular, although there were several present, said “Some day this will be wiped out in Blood”.

The Virginians were hot blooded and quick to resent insult or injury. I remember on one occasion seeing a crowd gathered nearly opposite the office of “The Daily Virginian”, and hurrying up I found a man lying on the pavement shot through his neck, and dying. The man who shot him gave himself up and proved to the satisfaction of the jury that the man killed had wrecked his home, and the verdict was “justifiable homicide”. A very short time before that there had been a battle between employees of two newspapers, over remarks made erogatory to some of the editors. This occurred on the orner of Clay and Church Streets, and I believe resulted in one death. I simply mention these to show the temper of the southern people at the time of which I am writing.

But, to return to my subject, when news came that Sumpter was fired upon the town fairly seethed with excitement. Men stood on the street corners in groups discussing the news. Companies were formed and when the news came on the seventeenth of April, sixty-one, that Virginia had seceded, it met everywhere with approval and was cheered to the echo. The southern youth rushed to arms. No compulsion at that time was needed. The town was soon stripped of all its young men. Then Bull Run added fuel to the flames, and older men enlisted and there remained only the old men, women and boys.

Of course I omit the Negroes. Then came rumors of uprisings of the Negroes. Where they originated no one knew. But they became so persistent and caused us so much uneasiness that the old men and boys formed themselves into vigilance committees and patrolled the town at night. We carried shot guns, single barreled pistols and ancient muskets. In fact, any weapon we might have. We met at a party’s house, who name I have now forgotten, but who was at that time one of the prominent men of the town, and after partaking of a cup of real coffee, each started out on his beat. Mine was the outskirts of the town near College Hill, and was very lonely.

I confess that I was compelled to pull my cap down tight on my head to keep my hair from lifting it off and it always has remained a question with me how I should have acted if a crisis had arisen. However nothing out of the ordinary happened. The rumors subsided as did also our enthusiasm. The news began to filter in of reverses. Tobacco factories were turned into hospitals and filled with the wounded; prisoners came in by the car load and the fair grounds were made a prison camp. I then became a newsboy and sold papers to the prisoners and through the hospitals. Often in passing through the hospitals some wounded soldier would stroke my hair and tell me about his boy he left at home. The next morning I would find the cot empty or his body covered with a sheet. Somebody’s Father had died during the night unnoticed and unwept.

Food and clothing became scarce, and the spectre of famine became visible to all except the rich. Even the rich suffered many hardships. Shoes sold at twenty-five dollars a pair regardless of sizes. Flour could not be bought. Tea, coffee and sugar were luxuries enjoyed only by the wealthy, and the less favored ones began to look around for substitutes. Persimmon buds, sweet potatoes and rye were roasted, ground and used as coffee. Raspberry leaves dried in the sun were used and made an excellent substitute for tea. Bran sifted from corn meal was used by the very poor for bread. Salt became very scarce. For sugar sorogum molasses was used. This was made on an island in the middle of the James River. I think they called it at that time “Daniel’s Island”. The cane was squeezed between wood rolls and boiled in an open pan over a wood fire. As primitive a sugar manufacturing as I have ever seen. It was nauseous looking but sweet to the taste, and we had no choice.

I helped to fill the larder to a certain extent by gunning. I used common powder by grinding it fine in a coffee mill. Why I was not blown to pieces has always been a mystery to me. I cannot account for it in any other way than this, that Providence is especially careful of Fools. The shot I manufactured myself. The modus operandi would not interest the reader, so I omit it. My Father, in the early part of sixty-one, laid in quite a large amount of flour and bacon, but these were now becoming very scarce and he began to see starvation ahead. The Government was issuing rations of cornmeal and salt to the heads of families, to be paid for at the prices then current. He had to take an oath as to the number in his family, and was given a certain amount for each member.

About this time the South suffered a great shock in the death of Stonewall Jackson. He was the idol of the South. They all loved him and had the utmost confidence in his abilities. His loss was irreparable. I remember standing on the hill overlooking the railroad as the funeral train pulled slowly in. The booming of the minute guns and the sobbing of bystanders made a deep impression on me. I followed the funeral procession through the town with many of my school fellows, and although we were boisterous and mischief-loving boys, yet that funeral march was as quiet and as orderly as any that I have ever seen. After this, things became rapidly worse, and Father communicated with friends in Richmond and found that passports could be bought by those who were too old or too young for active service.

He was not the man to hesitate when he made up his mind, and in a very short time he sold everything he possessed, and we started by train for Richmond. It was on April 17, 1864, just three years after Virginia seceded from the Union [which occurred on April 17, 1861] and I remember how sad I felt at severing old associations, but my boyish exuberance soon returned and when we arrived in Richmond, I had almost forgotten my sorrows. It was the first time I had seen Richmond and there were many things to interest a healthy boy. So many things attracted my attention that for the time being, I forgot the past and lived in the present.

Father found that passports could not be paid for in Confederate money, but must be paid for in greenbacks or gold. He had to do some hustling around Richmond and among the prisoners to get the amount necessary. Twenty-five for one was what was asked and given. This was done on the quiet as the authorities did not look with favor on this kind of trading. I went with him and it required several days to get what was necessary for our purposes. Those who were fortunate enough to possess either gold or greenbacks were loath to part with them, but by the influence of friends and the willingness on his part to pay whatever was asked, he finally got together enough to see him through.

Our next move was to go to General Winder’s office which was in the Public Square. I remember seeing the statues of Clay, Webster, Patrick Henry and a large statue of Washington on horseback. This could be seen out of the window as we waited for an audience. Hat in hand we waited not knowing how we would be received.

Visions of the prison I had passed and repassed in our wanderings [this was a large brick structure which was known as Libby Prison]. It was at one time a tobacco factory arose before me, and I fairly trembled as I waited. Finally we were ushered into the presence of General Winder who in a rather pompous manner demanded our business. This my Father explained in as few words as possible. Much to our surprise the passports were made out and handed to us and were paid for in gold and greenbacks. Just what we paid for them has long since passed from memory, lthough I was present and a party to the transaction. Our next move was to find some means of getting through the lines in the time allowed by our passports which was, if I remember rightly, ten days from the date on which they were written.

With the assistance of friends by Father without much delay succeeded in finding and making arrangements with a party who owned three covered wagons. He was to take us to the Potomac for if I remember rightly seventy dollars per head. We were joined here by several thers. Our party now consisted of three men, three women and seven children, one child being but six months old.

We started from Richmond going in a northeasterly direction on what was called at that time “The Old Plank Road”. The first day we passed over the Chickahominy Creek and over the battlefields where McClellan met with disaster. I remember seeing the bones of horses piled up in heaps and the trees riddled by grape shot and musket balls. When tired riding, the younger members of the party would get out and walk. I remember crossing the Pamunkey River on a rope ferry raft. The river was not very wide at this point. In fact, hardly worth mentioning had it not caused us some trouble with the horses and also I might say, some amusement. Safely over this we kept on the same direction to the Rappanhonock which we reached about seven o’clock on the evening of the second day.
 
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