Dixie After the War. Myrta Lockett Avary

old flag should be restored by soldiers of the race to secure whose eternal degradation that flag had been pulled down.” Whether the assignment was made or not, I am unable to say; if it was, it was not very graceful or wise on the part of our conquerors, and had it been carried out, would have been prophetic of what came after – the subversion.

      White troops first entered Richmond, and a white man ran up the flag of the Union over our Capitol. General Shepley says that to his aide, Lieutenant de Peyster, he accorded the privilege as a reward for caring for his old flag that had floated over City Hall in New Orleans. On the other hand, it is asserted that Major Stevens performed the historic office, running up the two small guidons of the Fourth Massachusetts Cavalry, which were presently displaced by the large flag Lieutenant de Peyster had been carrying in the holster at his saddle-bow for many a day, that it might be in readiness for the use to which he now put it.

THE ARMY OF THE UNION

       CHAPTER III

      The Army of the Union: The Children and the Flag

      The Army of the Union entered Richmond with almost the solemnity of a processional entering church. It was occasion for solemn procession, that entrance into our burning city where a stricken people, flesh of their flesh and bone of their bone, watched in terror for their coming.

      Our broken-hearted people closed their windows and doors and shut out as far as they could all sights and sounds. Yet through closed lattice there came that night to those living near Military Headquarters echoes of rejoicings.

      Early that fateful morning, Mayor Mayo, Judge Meredith and Judge Lyons went out to meet the incoming foe and deliver up the keys of the city. Their coach of state was a dilapidated equipage, the horses being but raw-boned shadows of better days when there were corn and oats in the land. They carried a piece of wallpaper, on the unflowered side of which articles of surrender were inscribed in dignified terms setting forth that “it is proper to formally surrender the City of Richmond, hitherto Capital of the Confederate States of America.” Had the words been engraved on satin in letters of gold, Judge Lyons (who had once represented the United States at the Court of St. James) could not have performed the honours of introduction between the municipal party and the Federal officers with statelier grace, nor could the latter have received the instrument of submission with profounder courtesy. “We went out not knowing what we would encounter,” Mayor Mayo reported, “and we met a group of Chesterfields.” Major Atherton H. Stevens, of General Weitzel’s staff, was the immediate recipient of the wallpaper document.

      General Weitzel and his associates were merciful to the stricken city; they aided her people in extinguishing the flames; restored order and gave protection. Guards were posted wherever needed, with instructions to repress lawlessness, and they did it. To this day, Richmond people rise up in the gates and praise that Army of the Occupation as Columbia’s people can never praise General Sherman’s. Good effect on popular sentiment was immediate.

      Among many similar incidents of the times is this, as related by a prominent physician:

      “When I returned from my rounds at Chimborazo I found a Yankee soldier sitting on my stoop with my little boy, Walter, playing with the tassels and buttons on his uniform. He arose and saluted courteously, and told me he was there to guard my property. ‘I am under orders,’ he said, ‘to comply with any wish you may express.’”

      Dr. Gildersleeve, in an address (June, 1904) before the Association of Medical Officers of the Army and Navy, C. S. A., referred to Chimborazo Hospital as “the most noted and largest military hospital in the annals of history, ancient or modern.” With its many white buildings and tents on Chimborazo Hill, it looked like a town and a military post, which latter it was, with Dr. James B. McCaw for Commandant. General Weitzel and his staff visited the hospital promptly. Dr. McCaw and his corps in full uniform received them. Dr. Mott, General Weitzel’s Chief Medical Director, exclaimed: “Ain’t that old Jim McCaw?” “Yes,” said “Jim McCaw,” “and don’t you want a drink?” “Invite the General, too,” answered Dr. Mott. General Weitzel issued passes to Dr. McCaw and his corps, and gave verbal orders that Chimborazo Confederates should be taken care of under all circumstances. He proposed to take Dr. McCaw and his corps into the Federal service, thus arming him with power to make requisition for supplies, medicines, etc., which offer the doctor, as a loyal Confederate, was unable to accept.

      Others of our physicians and surgeons found friends in Federal ranks. To how many poor Boys in Blue, longing for home and kindred, had not they and our women ministered! The orders of the Confederate Government were that the sick and wounded of both armies should be treated alike. True, nobody had the best of fare, for we had it not to give. We were without medicines; it was almost impossible to get morphia, quinine, and other remedies. Quinine was $400 an ounce, when it could be bought at all, even in the earlier years of the war. Our women became experts in manufacturing substitutes out of native herbs and roots. We ran wofully short of dressings and bandages, and bundles of old rags became treasures priceless. But the most cruel shortage was in food. Bitter words in Northern papers and by Northern speakers – after our defeat intensified, multiplied, and illustrated – about our treatment of prisoners exasperated us. “Will they never learn,” we asked, “that on such rations as we gave our prisoners, our men were fighting in the field? We had not food for ourselves; the North blockaded us so we could not bring food from outside, and refused to exchange prisoners with us. What could we do?”

      I wonder how many men now living remember certain loaves of wheaten bread which the women of Richmond collected with difficulty in the last days of the war and sent to Miss Emily V. Mason, our “Florence Nightingale,” for our own boys. “Boys,” Miss Emily announced – sick soldiers, if graybeards, were “boys” to “Cap’n,” as they all called Miss Emily – “I have some flour-bread which the ladies of Richmond have sent you.” Cheers, and other expressions of thankfulness. “The poor, sick Yankees,” Miss Emily went on falteringly – uneasy countenances in the ward – “can’t eat corn-bread – ” “Give the flour-bread to the poor, sick Yankees, Cap’n!” came in cheerful, if quavering chorus from the cots. “We can eat corn-bread. Gruel is good for us. We like mush. Oughtn’t to have flour-bread nohow.” “Poor fellows!” “Cap’n” said proudly of their self-denial, “they were tired to death of corn-bread in all forms, and it was not good for them, for nearly all had intestinal disorders.”

      Along with this corn-bread story, I recall how Dr. Minnegerode, Protestant, and Bishop Magill, Catholic, used to meet each other on the street, and the one would say: “Doctor, lend me a dollar for a sick Yankee.” And the other: “Bishop, I was about to ask you for a dollar for a sick Yankee.” And how Annie E. Johns, of North Carolina, said she had seen Confederate soldiers take provisions from their own haversacks and give them to Federal prisoners en route to Salisbury. As matron, she served in hospitals for the sick and wounded of both armies. She said: “When I was in a hospital for Federals, I felt as if these men would defend me as promptly as our own.”

      In spite of the pillage, vandalism and violence they suffered, Southern women were not so biassed as to think that the gentle and brave could be found only among the wearers of the gray. Even in Sherman’s Army were the gentle and brave upon whom fell obloquy due the “bummers” only. I have heard many stories like that of the boyish guard who, tramping on his beat around a house he was detailed to protect, asked of a young mother: “Why does your baby cry so?” She lifted her pale face, saying: “My baby is hungry. I have had no food – and so – I have no nourishment for him.” Tears sprang into his eyes, and he said: “I will be relieved soon; I will draw my rations and bring them to you.” He brought her his hands full of all good things he could find – sugar, tea, and coffee. And like that of two young Philadelphians who left grateful hearts behind them along the line of Sherman’s march because they made a business of seeing how many women and children they could relieve and protect. In Columbia, during the burning, men in blue sought to stay ravages wrought by other men in blue. I hate to say hard things of men in blue, and I must say all the good things I can; because many were unworthy to wear the blue, many who were worthy have carried reproach.

      On that morning of the occupation, our women sat behind closed windows, unable to consider the new path stretching