Chapter IV: Introduction (3)

Among the heroic workers there, was Mother Bickerdyke, who could always find supplies if they were within reach. She took some wagons and a squad of men, and went down to the quartermaster’s storehouse. “Come on, boys,” she said; “we will see if we can find anything to make the wounded comfortable.”

The quartermaster was there to receive her, and to say, “We have no hospital supplies; they are all given out.”

“Then, I’ll have to take what I can get. Boys, roll out some of those bales of hay and cotton! They will make better beds than the ground.”

“You must bring me an order, madam.”

“I have no time to hunt up officers to get orders.”

“But I am responsible for these supplies, and cannot let them go without proper orders.”

The wagons were soon loaded up, and the bales of hay and cotton were soon at the hospital tents. An axe cut the hoops, and the hay went flying into the tents in long even rows with the help of ready hands. An armful of cotton made a good pillow. All night long the work went on. Some with lanterns were searching among the dead for the wounded and bringing them in; others dressing the wounds. No one was idle. The utmost of strength and energy must be put forth at such a time.

But the quartermaster must make his accounts all right, and of course had to enter complaint against Mother Bickerdyke. She was summoned to meet the charge, which she did when she found time to go.

“Mrs. Bickerdyke, you are charged with taking quartermaster’s stores without proper orders and over his protest.”

“Who ordered the tents put up on the college grounds?”

“I did.”

“What were they put up for?”

“To shelter the wounded men, of course.”

“Did you expect these wounded men to lie on the ground?”

“You should have obtained orders.”

“I had no time to go for orders. Why didn’t you order in the hay and the cotton?”

“I did not think of it.”

“Well, I did, and used all I needed; and now all you have to do is to draw an order for them and give it to the quartermaster.”

She bade the officers good-day and returned to her work, and no one thought of arresting her. Indeed, she had the best of the argument.

Mrs. Mary A. Bickerdyke, or “Mother Bickerdyke” as the boys used to call her, was one of the most energetic and faithful workers of the war. Her fidelity to duty, and her untiring efforts for the comfort of the sick and wounded, have endeared her to her co-laborers and to the old soldiers whom she blessed. She now, 1894, lives in quiet and comfort with her son, Professor Bickerdyke, Russell, Kan.

A FIGHTING EDITOR.

In the spring of 1861, Dr. Charles Elliott edited _The Central Christian Advocate_, in the third story of a business block in St. Louis, Mo.

_The Southern Christian Advocate_, which represented the views of the South, was at the time published in the second story of the same building.

The two editors, who had always been personally friendly to each other, were wide apart on the great question of disunion, which was stirring the hearts of the people.

Dr. Elliott was a genial Irishman of great ability and courage. He was one of the most learned men in the country. It is a remarkable fact that he had never been in a college until he was chosen president of one of the finest Western institutions of learning, yet he was master of all the highest university studies taught. Sanscrit, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, French, German, Spanish, and many other languages, were as familiar to him as the English, and he was profoundly versed in the natural sciences and mathematics. He was a thorough scholar, and made a good college president. But the church needed a strong, loyal man, with the courage to stand for the truth, at this outpost; and Dr. Elliott was chosen.

Both editors were able and fearless men, and they fought many a hard battle with their pens before the bombardment of Fort Sumter. After the fall of Sumter, the excitement in St. Louis ran high. The city was about evenly divided in sentiment, and no one dared to predict what a day or an hour would bring forth. The Stars and Stripes, symbolizing the Union cause, and the State flag, representing the disunion cause, floated here and there side by side on adjoining buildings. The two editors grew more intense in feeling as the conflict deepened. Dr. Elliott’s strong, masterly arraignment of the South for the crime of slavery, and his cutting sarcasm over secession, were almost unbearable to the managers of the other paper, and the latter tried to pay him back with interest; but at first neither one actually unfurled on the building the banner which represented his principles.

One day news reached St. Louis that General Price had won a victory, and the editor of _The Southern Christian Advocate_ threw out the State flag. A few moments afterward a friend came rushing into Dr. Elliott’s sanctum: “Doctor, they have thrown out the rebel flag down-stairs.” Dr. Elliott sprang from his editorial chair, and rushed to the front window. There, sure enough, was the flag of disunion, waving in the breeze. Dr. Elliott had prepared for just such an emergency. All the ropes and guys were ready. He ran to a closet, brought forth an immense Union flag, and threw it out. The next moment it was in its place, and was waving back and forth before the windows of the office below, and slapping the other flag furiously. Dr. Elliott laid out a brace of pistols on his editorial table, and took his seat to await developments. He did not have long to wait. The tramp of feet was heard on the stairs, and the editor of _The Southern Christian Advocate_ rushed in with some of his friends.

“Take down that flag!” he thundered.

“I shall not take down that flag; and if any man touches it I will shoot him on the spot as an enemy of my country,” was Dr. Elliott’s prompt reply, as he stood, pistol in hand, ready to execute his threat.

After some parley the invading force retired.

Shortly afterward a large Union force was thrown into St. Louis, martial law was declared, and all the rebel flags were hauled down. The beautiful flag which Dr. Elliott had displayed in front of his office continued to wave in triumph until the war was over.

THE FIRST SOLDIERS WOUNDED IN THE CIVIL WAR.

A COLORED MAN THE FIRST TO FALL.

Fort Sumter was fired on April 12, 1861. The next day the Pottsville Light Infantry, of Pottsville, Pa., tendered their services by telegram for the defence of the government.

Their services were accepted by Simon Cameron by telegraph; and they, with recruits gathered on the journey, were the first troops to reach the capital. There being some question as to the date of their reaching Washington, Simon Cameron, Secretary of War, being appealed to, published the following letter:--

PHILADELPHIA, July 4, 1866.

I hereby certify that the Pottsville Light Infantry was the first
company of volunteers whose services were offered for the defence of
the capital at the beginning of the War of the Rebellion. A telegram
reached the War Department on April 13, 1861, making the tender. It
was immediately accepted; and the company reached Washington on the
18th, with four additional companies from Pennsylvania, and these
were the first troops to reach the seat of government.

(Signed) SIMON CAMERON.

On July 22, 1861, the United States Congress passed the following resolution:--

_Resolved_, That the thanks of the House are due and are hereby
tendered to the five hundred and thirty soldiers from Pennsylvania
who passed through the mob at Baltimore, and reached Washington on
the 18th day of April last, for the defence of the national capital.

Although the day was cold and raw, the people of the loyal town of Pottsville gathered on the streets and cheered them on their way; and all along the line till they reached Baltimore, they were hailed with loyal enthusiasm.

They reached Baltimore April 18; and while passing through that city a furious mob assailed them, and they fought their way through.

Nicholas Biddle, the only colored man in the company, an old man sixty years old, was the first Union volunteer to shed his blood for the life of the nation in our recent Civil War.

It is a significant fact that the first man killed in the Revolutionary War was a colored man,--Crispus Attucks.

Nicholas Biddle was not killed, but was struck on the head with a stone dropped from a building, and fell senseless and covered with blood. His comrades, although fighting a furious mob, did not desert him, but gathered him up and put him on the cars.

Weary and wounded and bruised and battered by the mob at Baltimore, they got through alive, and were on the 18th of April quartered in the rotunda of the Capitol.

Nicholas Biddle, although sixty years old, enlisted and served throughout the war, and returned to Pottsville with those who survived the terrible struggle.

He lived till he was eighty years old; and his friends at Pottsville have erected a monument in his honor, which bears the following inscription--

“IN MEMORY OF
NICHOLAS BIDDLE.

_Died 2d Aug., 1876, aged 80 years._

His was the proud distinction of shedding the First Blood in
The Late War for The Union. Being wounded while
marching through Baltimore with the First
Volunteers from Schuylkill County,
18th April, 1861.

ERECTED BY HIS FRIENDS OF POTTSVILLE.”

The very next day, April 19, the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment fought its way through the same cruel, howling mob.

RUNNING THE BLOCKADE AT VICKSBURG.

The ship canal, and all other plans for getting below Vicksburg with enough boats to transport his troops across the Mississippi River, having failed, General Grant determined to run the blockade. Seven gunboats and three wooden steamers were put in condition to make the perilous trip.

The iron sides of the gunboats were drenched with coal-oil, and the floors were whitewashed, that the gunners might load their guns by the light of the whitewash.

The important working machinery of the wooden steamers was protected by bales of cotton and bales of hay. The smoke-stacks and pilot-houses were taken down; and the pilots must needs stand at their wheels, and the captains on the upper decks, with nothing to shield them from the sharpshooters on the wharves of Vicksburg.

All this preparation was done as secretly as possible.

But the service was a dangerous one, and no one was to be ordered into such unusual and dangerous service. A call was made along the line on dress parade for volunteers. Two thousand brave men stepped to the front, anxious for the perilous service. As only a few were needed, lots had to be drawn to obtain the few from the two thousand; and one young man, who was chosen by lot, was offered one hundred dollars for his place, but he refused it. I am glad to record that he got through safely.

About nine o’clock on the night of April 16, 1863, a dark night, I received a note from Mrs. General Grant, who was with her husband at Milliken’s Bend, informing me that the boats would run the blockade that night, and asking me to come over and go with them to witness it. I accepted the invitation, and accompanied the orderly who had brought the note. It was dark and raining; but very soon we were, in company with General Grant, on our way to the steamer that was to bear us to the point chosen by our fearless leader to witness the running of the blockade.

When we reached the steamer, we found all the leading generals there except General Sherman, who had gone below to receive the fleet. McPherson, Logan, Belknap, Rawlins, Dodge, and all the others whose names have been made immortal in connection with the siege of Vicksburg, were there. The boat at once steamed down to Young’s Point, from Milliken’s Bend; and about midnight all the lights were extinguished, the fires screened, and the boat dropped down without the splash of a wheel, near the first batteries of Vicksburg. With what intense interest we watched for the coming of the fleet, peering out into the darkness of that black night. At last we saw a gunboat, blacker than that starless night, creeping past us like some great monster of the deep. Then another and another, right down under the guns. They passed the first batteries without being noticed; then the storm broke upon them in all its fury.

Admiral Porter on his flag-ship, the _Benton_, led the way. The _Carondelet_, commanded by Captain Walke, and the _Tuscumbia_, followed.

The three wooden steamers were the _Forest Queen_, the _Henry Clay_, and the _Silver Wave_.

The first shot near us seemed to tear the sky to pieces above our heads. There was a flash of light all along the water-line of Vicksburg; great bonfires lighted up the river.

The captain of our boat in his excitement put on steam and started up the river. General Grant, who was with us on the guards, rushed to the hurricane deck, and compelled the captain to drop back to the old position.

Our long line of gunboats were now giving broadside after broadside, keeping well to the Vicksburg side, while the wooden steamers, with their heavily ladened scows or barges, ran through as rapidly as possible, keeping well to the Louisiana side.

The great artillery duel was now on, every gun on both sides of the line was belching forth shot or shell.

Our boat swayed with the concussion of sound. It was as though a thousand electric storms had burst upon us in all their fury. And yet each shot and shell had a voice of its own, and could be heard in thunder tones with awful distinctness. And running through the bass and treble of solid shot and screaming shells, the click of the musketry of the sharpshooters on the wharfs of Vicksburg could be heard, as, by the light of the bonfires blazing high, they aimed the deadly bullets at the captains and pilots who stood up unarmed in full view. My friend, Captain McMillen of Pittsburg, Pa., who owned the _Silver Wave_, and who commanded her on that expedition, stood on her deck in full view, amid the terrible rain of fire and lead.[1]

There were, history informs us, on the average, _one hundred and twenty heavy guns a minute_. The scene was grand and awful. The bonfires were kept blazing. The _Henry Clay_ burned to the water’s edge, the tongues of flame leaping above the track of shot and shell. Shells were flying in every direction; with their burning fuses they made their circles, dropping down out of the sky like stars of the first magnitude, now and then some bursting in mid-heaven with a million scintillations of light.

All the officers had gone to the upper deck; and Mrs. Grant and I stood together, out on the guards, looking out on the grand and awful scene before us, shivering with agony.

We were neither of us alarmed for our own safety, but were overwhelmed with anxiety for the safety of our brave soldiers, and the success of the expedition.

Mrs. Grant was very sympathetic and kindly hearted, and stood there looking out upon the grand and terrible scenes of war through her tears. She was a most devoted wife and mother, and, like her noble, generous-hearted husband, was most heartily interested for the safety and welfare of the brave men who were fighting the battles of her country.

“Our men are all dead men.” “No one can live in such a rain of fire and lead,” we said to each other. “All our fleet, and the heroic men who manned the boats, are surely swallowed in that fiery channel,” we moaned with the tears on our faces. Only once, it was while the _Henry Clay_ was burning, we saw for a moment or two the grand old Stars and Stripes.

“See! see! there is our flag,” was the glad exclamation; but the next moment it was hid from our sight by the smoke of the guns.

We stood there, amid the thunders of this greatest artillery duel that was ever fought in the world, for two long hours, unconscious of danger or weariness. Then General Grant came down from the upper deck with the glad news, for he had been watching for the signals or rockets that the boats, one by one, sent up as they got safely through, that all the boats were through but the _Henry Clay_. The roar of the cannon had begun to die away, when our captain, at the command of General Grant, turned the prow of his boat up the Mississippi River, and steamed back to Milliken’s Bend. We reached there at daylight, after the most exciting night I had ever known, or perhaps will ever know again, on the earth.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] He made the journey safely, and continued to command his boat while she was in the United States service, which was till the close of the war. He was one of the few loyal steamboat captains on the Mississippi River. He lived to enjoy a long season of peace, dying in 1893.