Chapter XXIII: Richmond Surrenders

"RICHMOND, April 5, 1865.

"_My dear:_—I am not at all sure you will ever receive this
letter, but I shall risk it. _First_, I join you in humble
thanks to God for the great mercy accorded both of us. Your
General lives. My Colonel lives. What words can express our
gratitude? What is the loss of home and goods compared with
the loss of our own flesh and blood? Alas! Alas! for those
who have lost all!

"I am sure you will have heard the grewsome story of
Richmond's evacuation. I was at St. Paul's Sunday, April 1,
when a note was handed to President Davis. He rose instantly,
and walked down the aisle—his face set, so we could read
nothing. Dr. Minnegerode gave notice that General Ewell
desired the forces to assemble at 3 P.M., and also that there
would be no further service that day. I had seen no one speak
to the doctor, and I wonder at the acuteness of his perception
of the state of affairs. As soon as I reached the hotel I
wrote a note to the proprietor, asking for news. He answered
that grave tidings had come from Petersburg, and for himself
he was by no means sure we could hold Richmond. He requested
me to keep quiet and not encourage a tendency to excitement
or panic. At first I thought I would read my services in the
quiet of my little sky parlor at the Spotswood, but I was
literally in a fever of anxiety. I descended to the parlor.
Nobody was there except two or three children with their
nurses. Later in the afternoon I walked out and met Mr. James
Lyons. He said there was no use in further evading the truth.
The lines were broken at Petersburg and that town and Richmond
would be surrendered late at night—he was going out himself
with the mayor and Judge Meredith with a flag of truce and
surrender the city. Trains were already fired to carry the
archives and bank officials. The President and his Cabinet
would probably leave at the same time.

"'And you, Judge?'

"'I shall stand my ground. I have a sick family, and we must
take our chances together.'

"'Then seriously—really and truly—Richmond is to be given up,
after all, to the enemy.'

"'Nothing less! And we are going to have a rough time, I
imagine.'

"I could not be satisfied until I had seen Judge Campbell,
upon whom we so much relied for good, calm sense. I found him
with his hands full of papers, which he waved deprecatingly
as I entered.

"'Just a minute, Judge! I am alone at the Spotswood and—'

"'Stay there, my dear lady! You will be perfectly safe. I
advise all families to remain in their own houses. Keep quiet.
I am glad to know the Colonel is safe. He may be with you soon
now.'

"With this advice I returned and mightily reassured and
comforted the proprietor of the Spotswood. He immediately
caused notice to be issued to his guests. I resolved to
convey my news to the families I knew best. The Pegrams were
in such deep affliction there was no room there for anxious
fears about such small matters as the evacuation of cities,
but I could see my dear Mrs. Paul, and Mrs. Maben, and say
a comforting word at the Allan home—closed to all the world
since poor John fell at Gettysburg. Mrs. Davis was gone and
out of harm's way. The Lees were sacred from intrusion. Four
members of that household—the General, 'Rooney,' Custis, and
Robert—were all at the post of danger. Late in the afternoon
three hundred or more prisoners were marched down the street;
the negroes began to stand about, quietly observant but
courteous, making no demonstration whatever. The day, you
remember, was one of those glorious days we have in April,
and millions on millions of stars watched at night, looking
down on the watchers below. I expected to sit by my window all
night as you always do in a troubled time, but sleep overtook
me. I had slept, but not undressed, when a loud explosion
shook the house—then another. There were crashing sounds of
falling glass from the concussion. I found the sun had risen.
All was commotion in the streets, and agitation in the hotel.
The city government had dragged hogsheads of liquor from the
shops, knocked in the heads, and poured the spirits into the
gutters. They ran with brandy, whiskey, and rum, and men,
women, and boys rushed out with buckets, pails, pitchers, and
in the lower streets, hats and boots, to be filled. Before
eight o'clock many public buildings were in flames, and a
great conflagration was evidently imminent. The flames swept
up Main Street, where the stores were quickly burned, and then
roared down the side streets almost to Franklin.

"The doors of all the government bakeries were thrown open
and food was given to all who asked it. Women and children
walked in and helped themselves. At ten o'clock the enemy
arrived,—ten thousand negro troops, going on and on, cheered
by the negroes on the streets.

"So the morning passed—a morning of horror, of terror! Drunken
men shouted and reeled through the streets, a black cloud from
the burning city hung like a pall over us, a black sea of
faces filled the street below, shells burst continuously in
the ashes of the burning armory. About four in the afternoon
a salute of thirty-four guns was fired. A company of mounted
dragoons advanced up the street, escorting an open carriage
drawn by four horses in which sat Mr. Lincoln and a naval
officer, followed by an escort of cavalry. They drove straight
to Mr. Davis's house, cheered all the way by negroes, and
returned the way they came. I had a good look at Mr. Lincoln.
He seemed tired and old—and I must say, with due respect to
the President of the United States, I thought him the ugliest
man I had ever seen. He was fairly elected the first time,
I acknowledge,—but was he the last? A good many of the 'free
and equal' were not allowed a vote then.

"The next day I persuaded one of the lads in the hotel to
take a walk with me early in the morning, and I passed General
Lee's house. A Yankee guard was pacing to and fro before it—at
which I felt an impulse of indignation,—but presently the door
opened, the guard took his seat on the steps and proceeded
to investigate the contents of a very neatly furnished tray,
which Mrs. Lee in the kindness of her heart had sent out to
him.

"I am obliged to acknowledge that there is really no hope now
of our ultimate success. Everybody says so. My heart is too
full for words. General Johnson says we may comfort ourselves
by the fact that war may decide a _policy_, but never a
_principle_. I imagine our _principle_ is all that remains to
us of hope or comfort.

"Devotedly,
"AGNES."

From my friend Admiral Porter I learned that he landed with President Lincoln, and that through some _contretemps_ no equipage was in waiting to conduct them through the streets of Richmond. They set out to walk, escorted by twelve of the boat's crew with bayonets fixed on their rifles. The day was warm, and the streets dusty, "owing to the immense gathering of the crowd, kicking up the dirt." Mr. Lincoln took off his hat and fanned his face, from which the perspiration was pouring, and looked as if he would give his presidency for a glass of water.

The admiral, _par parenthèse_, told many negro anecdotes in negro dialect, but, like all Northern imitators of that inimitable lingo, he "slipped up" on many words. The negro does not say "Massa"—his word is "Marster"; he does not say "_Bress_ de Lawd,"—"Thank Gawd A'mighty" being his pious preference.

The triumphing party was overtaken by an equipage and a military escort, and proceeded, according to the admiral, "to the mansion of Mr. Davis.[23] It was quite a small affair compared with the White House, and modest in all its appointments, showing that while President Davis was engaged heart and soul in endeavoring to effect the division of the states, he was not, at least, surrounding himself with regal style, but was living in a modest, comfortable way, like any other citizen. Amid all his surroundings the refined taste of his wife was apparent, and marked everything about the apartments." Admiral Porter thought that the Confederate government had departed in an ignoble manner, "that it should have remained at the capital and surrendered in a dignified way, making terms for the citizens of the place, guarding their rights, and acknowledging they had lost the game. There was nothing to be ashamed of in such a surrender to a vastly superior force; their armies had fought as people never fought before. They had 'robbed the cradle and the grave' to sustain themselves, and all that was wanted to make them glorious was the submission of their leaders and troops in a dignified way," etc.

This was also the feeling of many of our own best men—of General Lee and scores of his officers, of Judge Campbell, of the private citizens of Richmond. Mr. Davis differed from these men. General Lee's opinion was known to his officers. General Gordon once said to him:—

"Have you expressed an opinion, as to the propriety of making terms, to the President or to Congress?"[24]

His reply was: "General Gordon, I am a soldier. It is my duty to obey orders.... It is enough to turn a man's hair gray to spend one day in that Congress. The members are patriotic and earnest, but they will neither take the responsibility of acting nor will they clothe me with authority to act. As for Mr. Davis, he is unwilling to do anything short of independence, and feels that it is useless to try to treat on that basis." This conversation immediately preceded the terrible battle at Petersburg, and the consequent loss of that city and Richmond. Much could have been saved in blood and in treasure had the final battles never taken place. "Whom the gods destroy they first infatuate."

* * * * *

Intelligence of the death of President Lincoln reached Petersburg on the 17th of April. As he had been with us but a few days before, manifestly in perfect health and in all the glow and gladness of the triumph of the Federal arms, the community was unspeakably shocked by the catastrophe. That he fell by the hand of an assassin, and that the deed was done by a Confederate and avowedly in the interest of the Confederate cause, were circumstances which distressed us with an apprehension that the entire South would be held responsible for the atrocious occurrence. The day after the tragic news reached us the people of Petersburg in public meeting adopted resolutions deploring the President's death and denouncing his assassination,—resolutions which gave expression to the earnest and universal sentiment of Virginia. I question if, in any quarter of the country, the virtues of Abraham Lincoln—as exhibited in his spirit of forgiveness and forbearance—are more revered than in the very section which was the battle-ground of the fight for independence of his rule. It is certainly our conviction that had he lived the South would never have suffered the shame and sorrow of the carpet-bag régime.