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PICTORIAL HISTORY

OF THE

WAR FOR THE UNION.

A COMPLETE AND RELIABLE

History of the War

FROM ITS

COMMENCEMENT TO ITS CLOSE:

GIVING A GRAPHIC PICTURE OF ITS ENCOUNTERS, THRILLING INCIDENTS, FRIGHTFUL SCENES, HAIRBREADTH ESCAPES, INDIVIDUAL DARING, DESPERATE CHARGES, PERSONAL ANECDOTES, ETC., GLEANED FROM EYE-WITNESSES OF, AND PARTICIPANTS IN, THE TERRIBLE SCENES DESCRIBED—A TRUTHFUL LIVING REFLEX OF ALL MATTERS OF INTEREST CONNECTED WITH THIS THE MOST GIGANTIC OF HUMAN STRUGGLES.

TOGETHER WITH A COMPLETE CHRONOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF THE WAR.

By MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.

EMBELLISHED WITH OVER TWO HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS.

TWO VOLUMES.

VOL I.

CINCINNATI:

JAMES R. HAWLEY, 164 VINE STREET,

PUBLISHER OF SUBSCRIPTION BOOKS.

1863.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862,

By JOHN G. WELLS,

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

EDWARD O. JENKINS,

Printer & Stereotyper,

No. 20 North William St.

INTRODUCTION.

The most difficult tusk, perhaps, known to literature, is to write a history of events as they transpire—to arrange facts before the hand of time has given them just position and importance. In writing a history of the Civil War which is now raging in the land—the most gigantic and stupendous rebellion yet known to the world—the magnitude of the task, and the difficulties that present themselves, challenge a degree of moral courage almost equal to that physical bravery which has been so conspicuous in the war. But if an honest intention to be just—a thorough desire for truth, and a determination to discard all personal prejudices, can produce a faithful history, this work has a right to claim acceptance.

The political history of a nation, when it merges into armed strife, is generally a record of prejudices and of passion: civil war is the result. In this work the author deals not with causes, but with the terrible events that spring out of them; avoiding so far as possible the threatening clouds of political dissension that preceded and still follow the tempest. Time, which will clear up obscurities and remove passion, and the intellect of a great statesman, are necessary, before the political and military history of this war can be fittingly united.

In this book there is a positive rejection of those partizan dissensions which have burst asunder the sacred ties of the greatest nation on earth, and deluged the soil trodden by millions of happy men with the blood of as brave a soldiery as ever drew breath. This history of the War for the Union is written for no faction—no party—no combination of men, but for the people of every portion of the Union. Political passions die—History lives; and in an enlightened age like this, it must be written in simple truth, or the clear-sighted generations that follow us will detect the sophistry and falsehood. Impartial history demands honest facts. The opinions of an historian are but the assumptions of one mind attempting to control multitudes. The author’s duty is to give details, allowing the intelligent reader to draw his own conclusions unembarrassed by obtrusive opinions, which are in all cases liable to be influenced by prejudices.

The History of the War for the Union is a record of stupendous events which have given grandeur to the American arms and sorrow to every good American heart. Taking up the thread of events where the political history of the nation left them on the fourth of March, eighteen hundred and sixty-one, the author has followed the ensanguined track, giving to every battle-field its place, and every heroic act its record. The sources of information in which the work has found its existence, have been authentic reports from the War Department, the official statements of commandants on the battle-field, and the many thrilling and graphic descriptions furnished by eye-witnesses.

In giving due credit to those persons who have aided her in the rapid completion of her first volume, the author acknowledges her great obligation to Wm. Oland Bourne, Esq., who has devoted much time to the work, and whose ample collection of material for history has been freely used in its preparation; and to J. J. Golder, Esq., whose research and clear judgment in sifting truth from error, arranging facts, and superintending the work in its progress through the press, has enabled her to place it before the public in less than three months from its commencement. To Mr. Golder’s critical care the reader is indebted for the compact and excellent Chronology attached to this volume, in which all the historical events of the war are placed in their order of succession.

In the mechanical and artistic execution of the work, the publisher has evinced an enthusiasm which corresponds nobly with the great subject of the history, and has been even lavish in pictorial embellishments. These have been all drawn and engraved expressly for this work, at great cost; and in the truthfulness and beauty of their execution, add to the high reputation already attained by the artists, Messrs. Waters and Son.

New York, October 1, 1862. ANN S. STEPHENS.

CONTENTS.

INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS.

WAR FOR THE UNION.

On the 4th of March, 1861, when Abraham Lincoln took the inaugural oath in front of the National Capitol, his footprints upon the marble marked the great and terrible epoch in the history of our government. The scene was imbued with a grandeur undiscovered and without acknowledgment from the thousands and thousands of freemen who crowded and surged like an ocean at his feet.

An old man, bowed both by responsibility and years, stood by his side, then and there to render up his august position over a great country, at the very moment struggling with the first throes of civil war. How weary he had become, and how gladly he laid down the burden of his power, no heart save his own can tell. But the darkness and the thunders of coming strife followed alike James Buchanan in his retirement and Abraham Lincoln into the thorny splendors of the White House. Solemn and very sad were these two men as they stood for a brief space before the people. The splendor of power brought no happiness either in the giving or receiving. No two men upon the face of the earth ever stood before a people in an attitude so imposing, so fraught with terrible events. When they shook hands peace veiled her face, and, shuddering, shrunk away into the shadows which have darkened around her closer and thicker, till she is now buried so deep beneath the gathered death-palls that no one can tell where she is hidden. For months and even years she had been threatened by factions, disturbed by reckless speech and still more reckless pens, but now, behind all these, warcries swelled, and bayonets glistened in the distance, bloodless as yet, but threatening storms of crimson rain.

There, upon the verge of this coming tempest, the two Presidents parted, one for the solitude of a peaceful home, the other outward bound into the wild turmoil of contesting thoughts and heroic deeds. As I have said, no one fully realized the coming terror, or thought how easy a thing it is for a war of passions to verge into a war of blood. Still the signs of the last three months had been painfully ominous. The strife of opinions and clash of factions, which had been waxing deeper and stronger between the North and the South, concentrated after Lincoln’s election, and the heart of the nation was almost rent in twain before he took the inaugural oath. When he stood up, the central figure of the imposing picture presented to the nation on the fourth of March, a southern government had already been organized at Montgomery, and Jefferson Davis had been sworn in as its president, while the men who had abandoned their seats in the United States Senate now held place in the Confederate Cabinet.

Between the time of President Lincoln’s election and his inauguration, five States had followed the lead of South Carolina and declared themselves out of the Union. One by one the representatives of these States had left Congress, some in sullen silence, others eloquent with passion and sophistry.

The nation saw all this, but would not comprehend the imminence of its danger. At a New England dinner, given in New York, December 22d, 1860, one of the most astute statesmen of the country had prophesied, in words that amounted to a promise, that sixty days would be sufficient time in which to tranquilize all this turbulent discontent, and the people believed him; but the sixty days had long since passed, and instead of peace a Confederate government had planted itself on the Alabama river; secession flags floated over more than one of our forts, and another fort in Charleston harbor had only been preserved by the forethought and bravery of Major Anderson, who was then engirdled by hostile batteries, and half-starving from lack of supplies. In the North also the spirit of sedition was abroad. Southern travellers still lingered in our great cities, and conspiracies grew up like nightshade in the dark—conspiracies that threatened not only the government, but the very life of its elected President.

Even on his way to the Capitol Lincoln had been called from his bed at Harrisburg and hurried forward to Washington in the night, thus, without a shadow of doubt, escaping the assassination that awaited him in Baltimore. Still so blind were the people, and so resolute to believe that nothing serious could result from a rebellion that had been preceded by so much bravado, that even the President’s preservation from the death prepared for him was taken up by the press and echoed by the people as a clever joke, calculated to bring out a Scotch cap and long cloak in strong relief, but of doubtful origin. Yet the absolute danger in this case might have been demonstrated to a certainty had any one possessing authority cared to investigate the facts. But the nation had not yet recovered from the excitement of a popular election, and everything was submerged in the wild rush of politicians that always follows close on an inauguration.

In this whirlpool of political turmoil rebellion had time to grow and thrive in its southern strongholds, for its imminence could not be forced upon the cool consideration of a people whose traditions had so long been those of prosperous peace. The idea of a civil war, in which thousands on thousands of brave Americans would redden the soil but just denuded of its primeval timber, was an idea so horrible that the most iron-hearted man failed to recognize it as a possibility. That the revolt of these Southern States would in less than a year fill the whole length and breadth of the land with widows and orphans—that American brothers could ever be brought to stand face to face in mortal strife as they have done—that women, so lately looked on with love and reverence, should grow coarse and fiendish from a scent of kindred blood, mocking at the dead and sending victims into a death-snare by their smiles, alas! alas! who could have foreseen it? The very angels of Heaven must have turned away from the suggestion in unbelief.

Never on the face of the earth has a war so terrible been waged on so little cause. The French Revolution—whose atrocities we have not yet emulated, thank God—was the frenzied outbreak of a nation trodden under foot and writhing in the grasp of tyranny such as no American ever dreamed of. If the people became fiends in their revenge, it was the outgrowth of fearful wrongs. But where is the man North or South in our land who had been subject to tyranny or aggression from its government when this war commenced?

No wonder the government looked upon the rebellion with forbearance. No wonder it waited for the sober second thought which it was hoped would bring its leaders back to the old flag, under which the contending parties might reason together. But no, the first step, which ever counts most fatally, was taken, and every footprint that followed it is now red with American blood.

A month passed. President Lincoln was in the White House, besieged by office-seekers almost as closely as Major Anderson was surrounded in Fort Sumter. Ambassadors, consuls, postmasters, collectors, and all the host of placemen that belong to the machinery of a great nation, made their camping ground in Washington, and their point of attack the White House. But amid all this excitement, great national events would force themselves into consideration. News that Jefferson Davis was mustering troops, and that rebellion was making steady strides in the disaffected States, broke through the turmoil of political struggles.

But the state of the country gave painful apprehension to men who stood aloof from the struggles for place going on at Washington, and those who had time for thought saw that the rebellion was making steady progression. The Border States—Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee and Missouri—with the non-slaveholding States verging upon them, had made a desperate effort to unite on some plan of pacification, but in vain. The border slave States, being in close neighborhood with the North, hesitated in joining the cotton States already in revolt. But disaffection was strong even there, and no great mind, either in Congress or out of it, had arisen strong enough to check the spirit of revolution. Before Lincoln’s inauguration Governor Letcher had declared that any attempt of the United States government to march troops across the State of Virginia, for the purpose of enforcing the Federal authority anywhere, would be considered “an invasion, which must be repelled by force.” Never was the government placed in a more humiliating position. President Buchanan was surrounded by advisers, many of whom were secretly implicated in the rebellion, and felt himself powerless to act in this emergency, while leading officers of the Federal government were daily making use of their high powers to consummate the designs of the conspirators.

Immediately after the act of secession of South Carolina, Governor Pickens had commenced the organization of an army. Commissioners had appeared in Washington to demand the surrender of the fortifications in Charleston harbor, and the recognition of the State as a distinct nationality. Castle Pinckney, Forts Moultrie and Sumter were the government fortifications in the harbor. Fort Moultrie was garrisoned by a small force, which had been reduced far below the ordinary peace complement, under the command of Major Anderson, a noble and brave man. On the night of December 26, in order to place his command in a more secure fortification, Major Anderson had removed his men and material to Fort Sumter, where, from its isolated position, he had nothing to fear, for a time at least, from the armed masses that were gathering about him. This movement, peaceable in itself, placed his little band in a position where it could inflict no injury on the inhabitants of Charleston. The city was thus placed beyond the range of his guns. But the movement was received with outbursts of indignation from the people of South Carolina.

The then Secretary of War, John B. Floyd, of Virginia, had promised the South Carolina seceders that everything in the harbor of Charleston should be left undisturbed. But of this promise both President Buchanan and Major Anderson were ignorant. In making a movement of signal importance, that resulted in a terrible inauguration of war, the Major had exercised an undoubted right, conferred by his position as an independent commander.

President Buchanan, when called upon to interfere, repudiated the pledge made by his Secretary, and peremptorily refused to sanction it in any way.

FORT SUMTER.

This threw the people of Charleston into a fever of indignation. The Charleston Courier denounced Major Anderson in the most cutting terms. “He has achieved,” said that journal, “the unenviable distinction of opening civil war between American citizens, by a gross breach of faith. He has, under counsel of a panic, deserted his post at Fort Moultrie, and by false pretexts has transferred his garrison and military stores to Fort Sumter.” The Mercury, still more imperative, insisted, “that it was due to South Carolina and good faith, that Major Anderson’s act should be repudiated by his government, and himself removed forthwith from Fort Sumter.”

Meantime Castle Pinckney and Fort Moultrie were occupied and garrisoned by the troops of South Carolina. The small guard left in charge of these posts by Major Anderson were disarmed and kept by force from joining their commander.

That day the Palmetto flag was hoisted over the Custom House and Post Office of Charleston. That day, also, Captain L. N. Costa, commander of the revenue cutter William Aiken, betrayed his government and delivered his vessel over to the State authorities, carrying with him a majority of his men.

These proceedings at Fort Sumter resulted in the withdrawal of John B. Floyd, of Virginia, from Mr. Buchanan’s counsellors, and ultimately in breaking up his cabinet only a few weeks before his term of office expired; for there, as elsewhere, arose a conflict of opinion, northern members taking one side and Southern members another. Howell Cobb, of Georgia, Secretary of the Treasury, and Jacob Thompson, of the Interior, soon followed Floyd, and after them went General Cass, of Michigan. Their places were supplied for the brief time of Buchanan’s term by Holt, of Kentucky, Stanton, of Pennsylvania, Dix, of New York, and Horatio King, who had been a leading mind in the Post Office Department for twenty years.

The military authorities of South Carolina, strengthened by volunteers and contributions from other States, commenced the siege of Fort Sumter in earnest. They planted heavy batteries on James Island, Morris Island, and Cummings Point. In every spot where guns could be brought to bear on the fort, powerful earthworks were erected, and an immense floating battery of unexampled construction was planned. This, anchored within short range when the day of attack should arrive, was expected to work terrible execution.

Thus encircled by bristling guns at every point, forbidden all intercourse beyond the walls, and denied the privilege of procuring fresh provisions almost entirely, Major Anderson and his noble band could only wait for the help which was slow in coming.

Thus day by day the isolated fort stood like a solitary rock, against which the angry surges of an ocean were stormfully mustering. Girdled in by an army that grew stronger every moment, its noble commander and his scarcely less heroic men, stood firmly by the flag that floated above its battlements, the only stars and stripes now visible from horizon to horizon.

The God of heaven, and that small handful of men, only know the anxieties that beset them. With no means of intelligence, no certainty of support, if an emergency arose demanding an assumption of prompt responsibility, with nothing but gloom landward or seaward, Anderson and his little forces stood at bay. Every hour, every moment, restricted their privileges and consumed their stores; they began to look forward to a lack of food, and many an anxious eye was turned toward the ocean, in a wistful search after the succor that did not come.

The government in Washington was painfully aware of the peril which hung over these brave men. Still, some hope of an amicable adjustment lingered, and President Buchanan hesitated in taking measures that might inaugurate a civil war. But his obligations to these suffering men were imperative. The heroic band, so faithful to their trust, so true to their national honor, must not be left to starve or fall for lack of food and re-enforcements.

On the 5th of January the Star of the West set sail from New York, laden with stores, ammunition, and two hundred and fifty men. Fort Sumter was at length to be relieved. But the North abounded with secession sympathizers, and in a few hours after the steamer sailed, the people of Charleston were informed of her destination by telegraph. Preparations were promptly made for her reception. Captain McGowan had intended to enter Charleston harbor at night, hoping to veil himself in darkness, and reach Fort Sumter undiscovered. But the buoys, sights and ranges had been removed, and, thus baffled, he was compelled to lie outside the harbor till daylight.

At half-past 7, A. M., January 9th, the Star of the West started for the fort. A shot from Morris Island cut sharply across her bows. She run up the stars and stripes, sending that first aggressive shot a noble answer, in red, white and blue, but keeping steadily on her course.

Again and again the audacious guns on Morris Island ploughed up the waters in her path, and, thus assailed, she slowly changed her course, and left the besieged fort without succor.

The little garrison in Fort Sumter watched these proceedings with keen anxiety; though ignorant of the nature and errand of the steamer, this attack aroused the patriotism in every heart. They saw the stars and stripes deliberately fired upon. Seventeen guns sent their iron messages from Morris Island, and then, ignorant of the cause, ignorant of everything, save that the old flag had been assaulted, the garrison fell to work. The guns of Fort Sumter were run out ready for action, but just then the steamer veered on her course and moved seaward.

Had Major Anderson known that the Star of the West was struggling to give him succor, those seventeen shots would never have been fired with impunity.

While the steamer was yet hovering on the horizon, Anderson sent a flag to Governor Pickens, inquiring if a United States steamer had been fired upon by his authority. Governor Pickens replied that it was by his authority. Immediately on the receipt of this answer, Lieutenant Talbot left Fort Sumter with despatches for Washington, asking for instructions.

From that time the garrison remained in a state of siege, until the 5th of April, one month after the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln as President of the United States.

At this time the fort had become more closely besieged. The little garrison was refused fresh provisions from the city, and its supplies by the Government were almost consumed. Starvation or surrender lay before Major Anderson and his handful of men.

Though cut off from communication with the fort, the Government was not unmindful of its needs. From the 5th to the 11th of April three vessels of war, three transports, and three steamers sailed from New York and Norfolk, with men, horses, and munitions of war. The destination of these vessels was kept secret, and public curiosity became intensely excited. The Confederate Government, now assembled at Montgomery, Alabama, was promptly notified, by its secret emissaries, of these movements. Indeed, it is doubtful if Jefferson Davis was not better informed, regarding the destination of this expedition, than the people of the North. The result was, a formal demand on Major Anderson for the surrender of Fort Sumter by General Beauregard, commander of the Confederate forces investing the fort, which now numbered 7,000 men, protected by batteries mounting 140 siege guns.

President Lincoln had notified Governor Pickens that provisions would be sent to the garrison of Fort Sumter, peaceably, if possible, if necessary, by force.

General Beauregard, commander of the Confederate forces, knew of the succor at hand, but deeming Anderson ignorant of its coming, hoped that the state of semi-starvation to which the garrison was reduced, might enforce the surrender before help arrived. But the astute rebel found himself matched by a soldier, cautious in negotiation as he afterwards proved himself heroic in battle.

On Thursday, the 11th of April, a boat was seen approaching the work, with Colonel Chesnut, Colonel Chisholm and Captain Lee, aids to General Beauregard. They handed Major Anderson a communication from General Beauregard, which was a summons to evacuate the fort. It was to this effect: that the Confederate authorities had refrained from any hostile act against Fort Sumter in anticipation that the government of the United States would withdraw its troops from that fort; that it appeared probable at one time that this would have been done, but that the authorities of the Confederate States could no longer refrain from taking possession of a fort that commanded the entrance to one of their principal harbors, and that the order to evacuate the fort was now made upon the following terms: The troops to be allowed to carry with them their arms, all personal baggage and company property of every description, and the flag which had been maintained with so much fortitude, might be saluted when hauled down.

Major Anderson replied, that his word of honor, and the duty he owed to his government, forbade his compliance with the demand.

These gentlemen then left the fort, displaying a red flag.

At half-past 1 A. M., on Friday, a boat containing Colonel Chesnut, Captain Lee and Colonel Roger A. Pryor, approached the work with a communication from General Beauregard, making inquiry as to what day Major Anderson would evacuate the work, and asking if he would agree not to open his batteries unless Fort Sumter was fired upon. Suspecting from the urgency of this midnight negotiation, some strong necessity on the part of his opponent, but convinced that an evacuation would be inevitable, Major Anderson made a written reply, stating that he would evacuate the fort at noon, on the 15th, provided he did not receive supplies or controlling instructions from his government to the contrary. That he would not open his batteries unless the flag of his country was fired upon, or unless some hostile intention on the part of the Confederate forces should be manifested.

Being in hourly expectation of the arrival of a United States fleet with reinforcements off the harbor, and urged to instant action by dispatches from Montgomery, General Beauregard had prepared his messengers for this answer. Anderson’s communication was handed to Colonel Chesnut shortly after 3 o’clock, who, after a short consultation with the officers who had accompanied him, handed a communication to Major Anderson, and said,

“General Beauregard will open his batteries in one hour from this time, sir.”

Major Anderson looked at his watch, and said,

“It is half-past three. I understand you, sir, then, that your batteries will open in an hour from this time?”

Colonel Chesnut replied, “Yes, sir, in one hour.”

They then retired.

FORTIFICATIONS IN CHARLESTON HARBOR.

Fort Sumter is a pentagonal structure, built upon an artificial island at the mouth of Charleston harbor, three and three-eighths miles from the city of Charleston. The island has for its base a sand and mud bank, with a superstructure of the refuse chips from several northern granite quarries. These rocks are firmly embedded in the sand, and upon them the present fortification is reared. The island itself cost half a million dollars, and was ten years in construction. The fortification cost another half million dollars, and at the time of its occupancy by Major Anderson, was so nearly completed as to admit the introduction of its armament. The walls are of solid brick and concrete masonry, built close to the edge of the water, and without a berme. They are sixty feet high, and from eight to twelve feet in thickness, and are pierced for three tiers of guns on the north, east and west exterior sides. Its weakest point is on the south side, of which the masonry is not only weaker than that of the other sides, but it is unprotected from a flank fire. The wharf and entrance to the fort are on this side.

The work is designed for an armament of one hundred and forty pieces of ordnance of all calibres. Two tiers of the guns are under bomb-proof casements, and the third or upper tier is open, or, in military parlance, en barbette; the lower tier for forty-two pounder paixhan guns; the second tier for eight and ten-inch columbiads, for throwing solid or hollow shot; and the upper tier for mortars and twenty-four pound guns. The full armament of the fort, however, had not arrived when Major Anderson took possession; but after its occupancy by him, no efforts had been spared to place the work in an efficient state of defence, by mounting all the available guns and placing them at salient points. Only seventy-five of the guns were in position at the time of the attack. Eleven paixhan guns were among that number, nine of them commanding Fort Moultrie, which is within easy range, and the other two pointing towards Castle Pinckney, which is well out of range. Some of the columbiads, the most effective weapon for siege or defensive operations, were not mounted. Four of the thirty-two pounder barbette guns were on pivot carriages, which gave them the entire range of the horizon, and others have a horizontal sweep of fire of one hundred and eighty degrees. The magazine contained seven hundred barrels of gunpowder, and an ample supply of shot, powder and shells for one year’s siege, and a large amount of miscellaneous artillery stores. The work was amply supplied with water from artificial wells. In a defensive or strategical point of view, Fort Sumter radiates its fire through all the channels from the sea approach to Charleston, and has a full sweep of range in its rear or city side. The maximum range of the guns from Sumter is three miles; but for accurate firing, sufficient to hull a vessel, the distance would require to be reduced one-half of that figure. The war garrison of the fort is six hundred men, but only seventy-nine were within its walls at the time of the attack, exclusive of laborers.

Fort Sumter is three and three-eighths miles from Charleston, one and one-fourth mile from Fort Moultrie, three-fourths of a mile from Cummings Point, one and three-eighths mile from Fort Johnson, and two and five-eighths miles from Castle Pinckney. The city of Charleston is entirely out of range of the guns of Fort Sumter.

The forts and batteries in the possession of the Confederate forces at this time may be briefly described as follows:

FORT MOULTRIE.

Fort Moultrie, which first opened its batteries upon Major Anderson and his command, is one of the sentinels that guard the principal entrance of Charleston harbor. It is opposite to and distant from Fort Sumter about one and a half miles. Its armament consists of eleven guns of heavy calibre and several mortars. The outer and inner walls are of brick, capped with stone and filled with earth, making a solid wall fifteen or sixteen feet in thickness.

THE IRON FLOATING BATTERY.

This novel war machine, designed for harbor operations, was anchored near Sullivan’s Island, commanding the barbette guns of Fort Sumter. It was constructed of Palmetto logs, sheathed with plate iron, and supposed to be impregnable against shot. It was embrasured for and mounted four guns of heavy calibre, requiring sixty men to operate it. The outer or gun side was covered with six plates of iron—two of them of the T railroad pattern, placed horizontally, and the other four bolted one over the other, in the strongest manner, and running vertically. The wall of the gun side was full four feet thick, constructed of that peculiar palmetto wood so full of fibrous material that sixty-four pounders cannot pierce it. The main deck was wide and roomy, and kept in place by four heavy wedges, driven down by a species of ram, which held it fast, preventing any swaying around by the tide.

CUMMINGS POINT IRON BATTERY.

The nearest point of land to Fort Sumter is Cummings Point, distant 1,150 yards. On this point was the celebrated railroad iron battery, having a heavy framework of yellow pine logs. The roof was of the same material, over which dovetailed bars of railroad iron of the T pattern were laid from top to bottom—all of which was riveted down in the most secure manner. On the front it presented an angle of about thirty degrees. There were three port-holes, which opened and closed with iron shutters of the heaviest description. When open, the muzzles of the columbiads filled up the space completely. The recoil of the gun enabled the shutters to be closed instantly. The columbiad guns, with which this novel battery was equipped bore on the south wall of Sumter, the line of fire being at an angle of about thirty-five degrees.

The Fort Johnson batteries consist of two large sand works, containing mortar and siege-gun batteries.

CASTLE PINCKNEY.

Castle Pinckney is a small work, situated on the southern extremity of “Shute’s Folly Island,” between the Hog and Folly channels. Though in itself not a very considerable military work, yet, from its position, commanding as it does the whole line of the eastern wharves, it becomes of the utmost importance. The height of the rampart is twenty, and the width thirty-two feet. The width of the outer wall and of the parapet is six feet; the depth of the casemates is twenty feet, height ten; the diameter (east and west) of the castle is one hundred and seventy feet. The entrance is on the northern side, on either side of which are the officers and privates’ quarters, mess-room, &c. The armament of this castle consists of about twenty-five pieces, 24 and 32-pounders, a few sea-coast mortars and six columbiads.

BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER.

Major Anderson made good use of the hour awarded to him, that one solemn hour which stood between a peaceful, happy country, so blessed that it had forgotten to be grateful, and the most terrible war that ever, without cause, deluged a free soil with the blood of its own sons. Were ever sixty minutes, since the creation of time, so portentous with fate?

But that little band of men had no time for such thoughts. No sooner had the deputation withdrawn than each officer and soldier was at his post. They had two flags at the fort, a large garrison flag, which Major Anderson raised when he took up his quarters at Sumter, and a smaller one, called the storm-flag; the former had a slight tip in it, and he ordered the storm-flag to be raised in its stead.

Sentinels were immediately removed from the parapets of Fort Sumter, the posterns closed, the flag drawn up, and an order sent to the troops not to leave the bomb-proofs, on any account, until summoned by the drum. At 4.30 A. M. one bombshell was thrown at Sumter, bursting immediately over the fort.

This was the first gun of the rebellion. How awfully its reverberations have thundered through the land! How little did the prompters of that attack upon the old flag dream of the horrors that were to follow!

BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER
1. Cummings’ Point Iron Battery.
2. Fort Sumter.
3. Sullivan’s Island.
4. The Iron Floating Battery.
5. Fort Moultrie.
6. Charleston.

After the pause of a few moments the firing became general on the part of the batteries of the secessionists, doing the greatest credit to the artillerists. Battery after battery joined in the murderous attack. The Major took it very calmly—divided his men into companies to relieve each other—had their scanty breakfast prepared, which they partook of in silence, while the iron hail was crashing against their walls—prepared additional cartridges by tearing up the flannel shirts of the men, their bed-clothes, etc.,—got out a supply of powder from the magazine—and after nearly four hours’ silence, the fort at last opened most vigorously on their assailants. Hot coffee was kept in the boiler in the cook room for the men to partake of whenever they pleased, and they worked the guns with a will. They fired but few shells, for the only guns for that kind of ammunition were the barbette guns on the open rampart, many of which were dismounted by the continuous fire of the enemy, and the serving of which, from the lack of casemate protection, would have rapidly thinned out the Major’s little band.

As the number of men was so small, and the garrison so nearly exhausted by the several months of siege which they had gone through, it was necessary to husband their strength. The command was therefore divided into three reliefs, or equal parties, who were to work the different batteries by turns, each four hours.

The first relief opened upon the iron batteries at Cummings Point, at a distance of 1,600 yards, the iron floating battery, distant 1,800 or 2,000 yards at the end of Sullivan’s Island, the enfilading battery on Sullivan’s Island, and Fort Moultrie. This was at 7 o’clock in the morning, Captain Doubleday firing the first gun, and all the points named above being opened upon simultaneously. For the first four hours the firing was kept up with great rapidity; the enthusiasm of the men, indeed, was so spirited that the second and third reliefs could not be kept from the guns. This accounts for the fact that double the number of guns were at work during the first four hours than at any other time.

Shells burst with the greatest rapidity in every portion of the work, hurling the loose brick and stone in all directions, breaking the windows, and setting fire to whatever woodwork they burst against. The solid shot firing of the enemy’s batteries, and particularly of Fort Moultrie, were directed at the barbette guns of Fort Sumter, disabling one ten-inch columbiad, (they had but two,) one eight-inch columbiad, one forty-two pounder, and two eight-inch sea-coast howitzers, and also tearing a large portion of the parapet away. The firing from the batteries on Cummings Point was scattered over the whole of the gorge, or rear, of the fort, riddling it like a sieve. The explosion of shells, and the quantity of deadly missiles that were hurled in every direction and at every instant of time, made it almost certain death to go out of the lower tier of casemates, and also made the working of the barbette, or upper uncovered guns, which contained all of our heaviest metals, and by which alone we could throw shells, quite impossible. During the first day there was hardly an instant of time that there was a cessation of the whizzing of balls, which were sometimes coming half a dozen at once. There was not a portion of the work which was not seen in reverse (that is, exposed by the rear) from mortars.

On Friday, before dinner, several of the vessels of the fleet beyond the bar were seen through the port-holes. They dipped their flags. The commander ordered Sumter’s flag to be dipped in return, which was done, while the shells were bursting in every direction. [The flagstaff was located in the parade, which is about the centre of the open space within the fort.] Sergeant Hart saw the flag of Fort Sumter half way down, and, supposing that it had been cut by the enemy’s shot, rushed out through the fire to assist in getting it up. Shortly after it had been re-raised, a shell burst and cut the halyards, but the rope was so intertwined around the halyards, that the flag would not fall.

The cartridges were exhausted about noon, and a party was sent to the magazines to make cartridges of the remaining blankets and shirts, the sleeves of the latter being readily converted into the purpose desired. Another great misfortune was, that there was not an instrument in the fort by which they could weigh powder, which of course destroyed all attempt at accuracy of firing. Nor had they tangent scales, breech sides, or other instruments with which to point a gun.

When it became so dark as to render it impossible to see the effect of their shot, the port-holes were closed for the night, while the batteries of the secessionists continued their fire the whole night.

During Friday, the officers’ barracks were three times set on fire by the shells, and three times put out under the most galling and destructive firing. This was the only occasion on which Major Anderson allowed the men to expose themselves without an absolute necessity. The guns on the parapet, which had been pointed the day before, were fired clandestinely by some of the men.

The firing of the rifled guns from the iron battery on Cummings Point became extremely accurate in the afternoon of Friday, cutting out large quantities of the masonry about the embrasures at every shot, throwing concrete among the cannoneers, slightly wounding one man, and stunning others. One piece struck Sergeant Kearnan, an old Mexican war veteran, on the head and knocked him down. Upon being revived, he was asked if he was hurt badly. He replied: “No; I was only knocked down temporarily,” and he went to work again.

Meals were served at the guns of the cannoneers, while the guns were being fired and pointed. The fire commenced in the morning as soon as possible.

During Friday night the men endeavored to climb the flagstaff, for the purpose of fastening new halyards, the old ones having been cut by the shot, but found it impossible. The flag remained fast.

For the fourth time the barracks were set on fire early on Saturday morning, and attempts were made to put it out. But it was soon discovered that red-hot shot were being thrown into the fort with the greatest rapidity, and it became evident that it would be impossible to put out the conflagration. The whole garrison was then set at work, or as many as could be spared, to remove the powder from the magazines. It was desperate work, rolling barrels of powder through the fire.

Ninety odd barrels had been rolled out through the flames, when the heat became so great as to make it impossible to get out any more. The doors were then closed and locked, and the fire spread and became general. The wind so directed the smoke as to fill the fort so full that the men could not see each other, and with the hot, stifling air, it was as much as a man could do to breathe. Soon they were obliged to cover their faces with wet cloths in order to breathe at all, so dense was the smoke and so scorching the heat.

But few cartridges were left, and the guns were fired slowly; nor could more cartridges be made, on account of the sparks falling in every part of the works. A gun was fired every now and then only to let the fleet and the people in the town know that the fort had not been silenced. The cannoneers could not see to aim, much less where the shot fell.

After the barracks were well on fire, the batteries directed upon Fort Sumter increased their cannonading to a rapidity greater than had been attained before. About this time, the shells and ammunition in the upper service-magazines exploded, scattering the tower and upper portions of the building in every direction. The crash of the beams, the roar of the flames, the rapid explosion of the shells, and the shower of fragments of the fort, with the blackness of the smoke, made the scene indescribably terrific and grand. This continued for several hours. Meanwhile the main gates were burned down, the chassis of the barbette guns were burned away on the gorge, and the upper portions of the towers had been demolished by shells.

There was not a portion of the fort where a breath of air could be obtained for hours, except through a wet cloth. The fire spread to the men’s quarters, on the right hand and on the left, and endangered the powder which had been taken out of the magazines. The men went through the fire and covered the barrels with wet cloths, but the danger of the fort’s blowing up became so imminent, that they were obliged to heave the barrels out of the embrasures. While the powder was being thrown overboard, all the guns of Moultrie, of the iron floating battery, of the enfilade battery, and the Dahlgren battery, worked with increased fury.

All but four barrels were thus disposed of, and those remaining were wrapped in many thicknesses of wet woolen blankets. But three cartridges were left, and these were in the guns. About this time the flagstaff of Fort Sumter was shot down, some fifty feet from the truck, this being the ninth time that it had been struck by a shot. A man cried out, “The flag is down; it has been shot away!” In an instant, Lieutenant Hall rushed forward and brought the flag away. But the halyards were so inextricably tangled that it could not be righted; it was, therefore, nailed to the staff, and planted upon the ramparts, while batteries in every direction were playing upon them.

A few moments after, and a man was seen with a white flag tied to his sword, who desired admission. He was admitted through an embrasure. In a great flurry, he said he was General Wigfall, and that he came from General Beauregard, and added that he had seen that Sumter’s flag was down. Lieutenant Davis replied, “Oh, sir! but it is up again.” The cannonading meanwhile continued. General Wigfall asked that some one might hold his flag outside. Lieutenant Davis replied, “No, sir! we don’t raise a white flag. If you want your batteries to stop, you must stop them.” General Wigfall then held the flag out of an embrasure. As soon as he had done this, Lieutenant Davis directed a corporal to relieve him, as it was General Wigfall’s flag.

Several shots struck immediately around him while he was holding it out, when he started back, and putting the flag in Wigfall’s face, said, “D——n it; I won’t hold that flag, for they don’t respect it. They struck their colors, but we never did.” Wigfall replied, “They fired at me three or four times, and I should think you ought to stand it once.” Wigfall then placed the white flag on the outside of the embrasure, and presented himself to Major Anderson, and said that General Beauregard was desirous that blood should not be unnecessarily shed, and also stated that he came from General Beauregard, who desired to know if Major Anderson would evacuate the fort, and that if he would do so he might choose his own terms.

After a moment’s hesitation Major Anderson replied that he would go out on the same terms that he (Major Anderson) had mentioned on the 11th. General Wigfall then said: “Very well; then it is understood that you will evacuate. This is all I have to do. You military men will arrange everything else on your own terms.” He then departed, the white flag still waving where he had placed it, and the stars and stripes streaming from the flagstaff which had become the target of the rebels.

Shortly after his departure Major Lee, the Hon. Porcher Miles, Senator Chesnut, and the Hon. Roger A. Pryor, the staff of General Beauregard, approached the fort with a white flag, and said they had come from General Beauregard, who had observed that the flag had been down and raised again a few minutes afterward. The General had sent over, desiring to know if he could render any assistance, as he had observed the fort was on fire. (This was perhaps a delicate mode of asking for a surrender.) Major Anderson, in reply, requested them to thank General Beauregard for the offer, but it was too late, as he had just agreed with General Beauregard for an evacuation. The three persons comprising the deputation, looked at each other blankly, and asked with whom? Major Anderson, observing that there was something wrong, remarked that General Wigfall, who had just left, had represented himself to be an aid to General Beauregard, and that he had come over to make the proposition.

After some conversation among themselves, they said to Major Anderson that Wigfall had not seen General Beauregard for two days. Major Anderson replied that Wigfall’s offer and its acceptance had placed him in a peculiar position. They then requested him to place in writing what General Wigfall had said to him, and they would lay it before General Beauregard.

Before this reached General Beauregard, he sent his Adjutant-General and other members of his staff, including the Hon. Roger A. Pryor and Governor Manning, proposing the same conditions which Major Anderson had offered to go out upon, with the exception only of not saluting the flag. Major Anderson said that he had already informed General Beauregard that he was going out. They asked him if he would not accept of the terms without the salute. Major Anderson told them, No; but that it should be an open point.

General Beauregard sent down to say that the terms had been accepted, and that he would send the Isabel or any other vessel at his command to convey Major Anderson and the troops to any port in the United States which he might elect.

No braver men ever lived than the defenders of Fort Sumter; but the ardor and endurance of musician Hall of Company E was remarked by every man in Sumter, and the company presented him with a testimonial. He was at the firing of the first guns, and fought on all day, and would not accept either of the three reliefs. He was up at the first shot the next day, and worked without cessation till night. His example and words of cheer had great effect. This is the more worthy of remark as he belonged to the musicians, and was not obliged to enter into the engagement at all.

Mr. Hart, a volunteer from New York, particularly distinguished himself in trying to put out the flames in the quarters, with shells and shot crashing around him. He was ordered away by Major Anderson, but begged hard to be permitted to remain and continue his exertions.

Never did famished men work more bravely than those who defended that fortress, knowing, as they did, that if successfully defended and held by them, there was not even a biscuit left to divide among them. They never would have left it while a protecting wall stood around them, had they been provided with provision and ammunition. Every man was true and faithful to his post; hunger and want of ammunition alone caused them to leave Fort Sumter. They were exposed to a most terrible fire from all quarters, and it was only by exercising the utmost care that the officers were enabled to preserve the men from a terrible slaughter. Fort Sumter in itself was hardly worth the holding; had there been the full fighting complement of men within its walls, the fort would not have afforded suitable protection for one-half of them. The enemy’s shot rained in upon and about them like hail, and more men in Sumter would only have made greater havoc. As it was, the garrison proved fortunate in having escaped without the loss of one of those brave men who were willing to die for the flag which waved over them.

The evacuation took place about 9½ o’clock on Sunday morning, after the burial with military honors of private Daniel Hough, who had been killed by the bursting of a gun. The men had been all the morning preparing cartridges for the purpose of firing a salute of one hundred guns. This done, the embarkation took place, the band meanwhile playing Yankee Doodle.

STORMING OF FORT SUMTER, VIEWED FROM THE LAND.

A person who witnessed the bombardment of Fort Sumter from the harbor, gives this graphic account:

The terrific firing reached an awful climax at ten o’clock at night. The heavens were obscured by rain clouds, and it was as dark as Erebus. The guns were heard distinctly, the wind blowing in shore. Sometimes a shell would burst in mid-air, directly over Fort Sumter. Nearly all night long the streets were thronged with people, full of excitement and enthusiasm. The house-tops, the battery, the wharves, the shipping,—in fact every available place was taken possession of by the multitude.

The discharges of cannon gradually diminished as the sun rose. All the clouds, which rendered the night so dark and dismal, disappeared as day began to break, while the air became most beautiful, balmy, and refreshing. The streets were filled again with persons, male and female, old and young, white and black; some went to the battery, some to the wharves, and some to the steeples of the churches.

A few random shots were fired from the Confederate batteries, to which Fort Sumter only replied occasionally. Soon it became evident that Sumter was on fire, and all eyes were rivetted upon it. The dense smoke that issued from it was seen gradually to rise from the ramparts. Some supposed that this was merely a signal from Major Anderson to call in the fleet to aid him.

At this time the fleet was in the offing quietly riding at anchor, and could clearly be distinguished. Four vessels were ranged in line directly over the bar, apparently blockading the port. Their long, black hulls and smoke stacks proved them to be Federal steamers. Every one anxiously waited to see what they would do. The suspense was very exciting. On all sides could be heard,

“Will the vessels come in and engage the batteries? If they do not they are cowardly poltroons.”

Every person on the battery fully expected that the engagement would become general. By the aid of glasses, it was believed that a movement was being made to this end by two of the war ships, and it was thought that the sand would soon begin to fly from the Morris Island batteries.

At ten o’clock in the morning, attention was again rivetted on Fort Sumter, which was now beyond a doubt on fire. The flames were seen to burst from the roofs of the houses within its walls, and dense columns of smoke shot quickly upward.

At this time Major Anderson scarcely fired a shot. The guns on the ramparts of Fort Sumter had no utterance in them. Burst shells and grape scattered like hail over the doomed fort, and drove the soldiers under cover.

From the Iron Battery at Cummings Point a continuous fire was kept up. Its rifled cannon played sad havoc with that portion of Fort Sumter facing it. The firing from the Floating Battery and from Fort Moultrie continued very regular and accurate. Standing on the Charleston battery, and looking seaward, you have on the right a mortar battery and Fort Johnson, distant from the city two and a half miles. Half a mile from Fort Johnson is the Iron Battery of Cummings Point, mounting three ten-inch columbiads, three sixty-four-pounders, three mortars, and one rifled cannon. Cummings Point is only fifteen hundred yards from Fort Sumter, and so any one can imagine what havoc the regular fire of the Cummings Point battery must have created.

The men working the guns made them terribly effective. The sand redoubt was scarcely injured by the weak fire Major Anderson kept up on the battery. It was commanded by Major Stevens, of the Citadel Cadets. Under his direction each shell that was fired found a destination within Fort Sumter, and during the entire bombardment scarcely one missile of this character missed its mark.

On the other side of the harbor, directly opposite Fort Sumter, is one of the strongest sides of Fort Moultrie. During the last three months it has been strengthened by every appliance that military art could suggest. Its marlons, moats, glaces, and embrasures are perfectly protected. The weak walls of the fort were made perfectly secure for the gunners while at work. From this point throughout the engagement vast numbers of shot and heavy balls were discharged.

Behind this, and near Sullivan’s Island, the Floating Battery was stationed, with two sixty-four and two forty-two pounders. Its sides of iron and palmetto logs were impenetrable. Every shot from it told on Fort Sumter, and the men in charge of it were so secure in their position, that some of them indulged in soldiers’ pastimes, while others played five cent ante, euchre and bluff.

The Mortar Battery at Mount Pleasant was five hundred yards from the Floating Battery, and was mounted with two mortars within excellent range of Fort Sumter. The shells from this mortar were thrown with great precision. You now have all the positions of the works bearing directly on Fort Sumter.

All through Friday morning the greatest activity at all points was displayed. Three times Major Anderson’s barracks were set on fire, and twice he succeeded in putting out the flames, and to do this it was necessary to employ all his force in passing along water. To get water it was necessary for some of his men to go outside the walls, and hand the buckets in through the port-holes, during all which time they were exposed to a most terrific fire from the various batteries.

This last expedient was not resorted to until the fort was on fire for the third time, and the flames had increased to an alarming pitch. Meantime, Major Anderson’s guns were silent. He allowed his men to be exposed to the galling fire upon them but for a few moments, and then ordered them in and shut the batteries as the smoke was too thick to work them. At noon the flames burst from every quarter of Fort Sumter, and its destruction appeared inevitable.

NAVAL EXPEDITION FOR THE RELIEF OF SUMTER.

The Government had sent a well-laden fleet to the relief of Fort Sumter, a portion of which arrived in Charleston harbor time enough to witness the bombardment of the fort, without the power to help its heroic garrison.

This fleet left New York and Washington from the 6th to the 9th of April. It consisted of the sloop-of-war, Pawnee, 10 guns, and 200 men; Pocahontas, 5 guns, 110 men; cutter Harriet Lane, 5 guns, 110 men; accompanied by the transport Baltic, and the steam-tugs Yankee and Uncle Ben, with additional men and stores. Owing to stormy weather, the vessels were unable to reach the Charleston coast at the appointed time. The Pawnee, Harriet Lane, and the Baltic arrived at the rendezvous on the morning of the 12th April, but the Pocahontas did not join them until the next day. The steamtug Yankee lost her smoke-stack in the storm which dispersed the fleet, and did not reach the neighborhood of Charleston till after the departure of her consorts, and eventually returned to New York. Nothing was heard of the Uncle Ben until the 30th of April, when intelligence was received that she had been captured by the insurgents off the coast of North Carolina.

The orders of the expedition were, that unarmed boats should first be sent to the fort with stores only; but if these were fired upon, every effort was to be made to relieve the fort by stratagem or force. The vessels of war and the Baltic proved of too heavy draft for any hopes of passing the bar, and the steam-tugs which were to have been sent in with supplies, failed to make their appearance. The attack on the fort, before any measures of a peaceable character could be adopted for its relief, left no alternative but force, to the commandant of the fleet, if the object of his expedition was to be accomplished. A consultation of officers was held at four o’clock on the afternoon of the 12th, and the following plan was agreed upon: the Pawnee and the Harriet Lane were to remain at anchor during the night; at dawn, on the 13th, the Pawnee was to hoist out her armed launches, and the Baltic was to put her boats alongside, freighted with the provisions and troops designed for the fort. The war vessels were then to tow the boats as far as possible on their perilous journey, when they were to be cast off, and allowed to pursue their course toward the fort, relying upon the guns of the men-of-war, and what aid might be extended from Sumter, to protect them from the batteries and flotilla of armed boats, which were in readiness to dispute their advance. During the night the Baltic went aground on Rattlesnake Shoals, and the plan agreed upon was, from necessity, relinquished. The conflagration of the barracks of the fort having precipitated its evacuation earlier than was anticipated, the officers of the fleet abandoned other plans for its relief.

At two o’clock on the 14th of April, Major Anderson and the garrison of Fort Sumter were received on board the Baltic, and the fleet shortly after sailed for New York. The flag of the fort was borne at the mast-head of the Baltic as she entered the bay of New York, where it was saluted by guns from every fort in the harbor, and hailed by the shouts of more than a hundred thousand people, who lined the wharves of the city. It was also raised over the equestrian statue of Washington in Union Square, in that city, when the great Union meeting was held on the afternoon of Saturday, April 20.

THE NATION’S RESPONSE.

The first gun that boomed against Fort Sumter struck the great American Union with a shock that vibrated from the centre to its outer verge. Every heart, true or false to the great Union, leaped to the sound, either in patriotism or treason, on that momentous day.

The North and South recoiled from each other; the one in amazement at the audacity of this first blow against the Union, the other rushing blindly after a few leaders, who had left them little choice of action, and no power of deliberation. The first news of the attack took the Government at Washington almost by surprise. President Lincoln and his Cabinet had not allowed themselves to believe that a civil war could absolutely break out in the heart of a country so blessed, so wealthy, and so accustomed to peace. True, political strife had waged fearfully; sections had clamored against sections, factions North had battled with factions South; but in a country where free speech and a free press were a crowning glory, a war of words and ideas could hardly have been expected to culminate in one of the most terrible civil wars that will crimson the world’s record.

The first boom of the cannon’s blackened lips—the first shot hurled against the stars and stripes, aroused the Government from its hopes of security. Scarcely had the telegraph wires ceased to tremble under the startling news, before the Cabinet assembled in President Lincoln’s council chamber, and when it broke up, a proclamation, calling for seventy-five thousand troops, had been decided upon, and Congress was to be convened on the Fourth of July.

The startling news, this prompt action, and the defenceless state of Washington, filled the country with wild excitement. It was known that the South had been for months drilling troops; that large portions of Virginia and Maryland were ready for revolt, and many believed that bodies of men were organized and prepared for an attack on the capital. Had this been true, had a considerable number of men marched upon Washington any time within four days after the news from Fort Sumter reached it, nothing could have saved it from capture, and probably, destruction. With only a handful of troops, and exposed at every point, no effectual resistance could have been made. The news reached Washington on Sunday; the next day such troops as could be mustered, appeared on parade. Pickets were stationed outside the town; horses were galloped furiously from point to point, and the first faint indication of this most awful civil war dawned upon a people so used to peace, that its import could not be wholly realized.

Smothered alarm prevailed in the city; a military guard was placed each night in the White House, and great anxiety was felt for the arrival of troops, which had been hastily summoned from the North.

That week the near friends of the President were under painful apprehensions for his safety. It was known to a few persons that the very gang of men who had planned his death at Baltimore, were in the neighborhood of the capital, plotting against him there. It was even known that a design existed by which a sudden descent of swift riders was to be made on the White House, with the bold object of killing Lincoln in his cabinet, or carrying him off by force into Virginia. The night-guard in the Presidential mansion was but small, and by day Lincoln had always been imprudently accessible.

The persons believed to be in this plot were brave, reckless men, accustomed to adventures of every kind, and quite capable of carrying out a programme of abduction or bloodshed under more difficult circumstances than surrounded this enterprise. But men of reckless action are seldom prudent in speech; the wild project was too exciting for proper reticence. By a few incautious words, dropped here and there, this treasonable design was fathomed; the friends of President Lincoln warned, and the whole thing quietly defeated, for the gang soon ascertained that their treason had been discovered, and, as its success depended on a surprise of the President’s household, the project was abandoned.

Meantime the news of Fort Sumter, and the call for troops, had shot its lightning along every telegraph in the Union; the response was an instantaneous uprising of the people, such as no country on earth ever witnessed before.

The great majesty of the Union had been insulted and set at defiance, and as one man, thousands upon thousands rushed around the worshipped banner of their country, firm in their patriotism, and terrible in their determination that it should never be trailed in the dust, or torn with hostile shot, unavenged.

The proclamation of President Lincoln calling for volunteers, was answered by the voices of freemen from every hill-top and valley, and almost fabulous numbers stood ready and anxious to devote themselves to the vindication of the national honor. Wild indeed was the enthusiasm that ran from heart to heart, linking the great west and the east together. But one sentiment found expression from any lip among the excited populace, and that sentiment was, the Union should be sustained at all hazards. Wealth, life, everything must be counted as dust till the Union had redeemed itself. Who in New York does not remember how the city was ablaze with flags and tri-colored bunting on the memorable day, when, “the Seventh regiment,” responded to the call? Never did a finer or braver body of young men pass down Broadway. Although their arms were not now corded or hands hardened by labor, their prompt action was a living proof that gentle breeding can be associated with hearts of oak, with stern determination, coolness and discretion. Leaping to their arms at the first note of danger, impatient of delay and thrilling with the hope of weaving in their peace-won wreaths laurels earned by hard fighting, this regiment marched from its armory, the very first of the Empire State to obey the call to arms. Their object was war. They hoped ardently that it was no light duty which might fall upon them. They expected to meet hard work and hard fighting too before the capital was reached, for danger menaced them on all sides. Baltimore had risen in revolt even while they were arming for the march and they fully depended on fighting their way through its turbulent streets.

On the 19th of April, at the very time revolt broke out in Baltimore, a very different scene was going on in New York.

Amidst unparalleled enthusiasm the volunteer soldiers of New England and New York struck hands on their march to the rescue of the national capital. And beautiful the streets looked, with bannered parapets, peopled roofs, windows thronged with sympathetic beauty, and sidewalks densely packed with multitudes of excited and applauding citizens.

But it required only a single glance at the faces of this great multitude to become convinced that no mere gala or festive purpose had called out this magnificent demonstration. In every eye burned the unquenchable fire of patriotic ardor, and in every heart was the aspiration to join in defence of one common country. Old men, who must have seen the earlier struggles of our history, came forth to bless the young soldiers on their march to take share in a grander and more noble struggle than any the American continent had yet witnessed.

Mothers, with tears of joyous pride half blinding them, helped to buckle on the accoutrements of their sons, and kissed them as they went forth to battle. Sisters and sweethearts, fathers and wives, friends and relatives, all were represented, and had their individual characteristics in the immense concourse of life which held possession of Broadway.

Perhaps if there could have risen from the dead one of the old Girondists, after being bloodily put away to repose during the great French Revolution, and if he had been dropped down in New York,—by allowing a little for advance in costumes and architecture, he might have seen many curious points of resemblance between the scenes and those of seventy years ago in Paris. Then the inspiration of liberty ran through the people, and the most powerful aristocracy of Europe was destroyed. The result of the struggle which broke out in New York, and in the streets of Baltimore, in one day, time has yet to reveal.

The children of New York, the Seventh regiment, the pets and pride of her society, were going forth to their first war duty. Eight hundred chosen young men, with threads woven to hold them, wherever they went, to the million hearts they left behind—moved down Broadway and started for the capital.

Eight hundred young citizens, each with musket and knapsack, borne along calmly and impassively on a tide of vocal patriotism, making the air resonant with shouts and warm with the breath of prayer.

With that regiment went young Winthrop, on that memorable day, who afterwards passed from the literary fame he had so richly earned, to military glory at the battle of Big Bethel. There also was O’Brien, one of the most promising poets of the age, doomed like Winthrop to reap bloody laurels, and fill a soldier’s grave. Let no one say that the Empire State was not nobly represented in these young soldiers. Gentlemen as they were, one and all, no man was heard to complain of hard work, soldiers’ fare, or no fare at all, as sometimes happened to them. How cheerful they were in the cedar groves for two days and nights—how they endured the hardships of a bivouac on soft earth—how they digged manfully in the trenches. With what supreme artistic finish their work was achieved—how they cleared the brushwood from the glacis—how they blistered their hands and then hardened them with toil—how they chafed at being obliged to evade Baltimore, and how faithfully they guarded Washington and achieved the object for which they were sent, will be best given in a description of the march from Annapolis of which O’Brien has left a brilliant record.

Nor were their services in protecting the capital all that the Seventh regiment of New York has given to its country. Many a regiment which has since won lasting fame on the battle-field has been officered to some extent from its ranks.

Two days after the departure of the Seventh regiment, the Seventy-first, since renowned for its bravery at Bull Run, the Sixth, and Twelfth, all city regiments of New York, took the same glorious track, and were hailed with like enthusiasm. In military drill and social position, some of these regiments were not inferior to the Seventh, and their departure was witnessed by a concourse of people equal to that which filled the streets on the 19th.

It was with pride that a city saw her first quota of soldiers departing en route for Washington, to take the Empire share with the troops of other loyal states in the contest now inaugurated. The spectacle, instead of being a great pageant, had all the grandeur and solemnity of a step in one of those crises of events which involve individual and national life—engraving new names and new dynasties upon the tablets of history.

As if to make the departure of these troops more memorable, a large American flag, forty feet long by twenty wide, was flung out upon a flagstaff from a window in Trinity steeple, at a height of two hundred and forty feet. The chimes meanwhile played several airs appropriate to the occasion, among which were “Yankee Doodle,” “The Red, White and Blue,” winding up with “All’s Well.” A flagstaff with a splendid flag attached, was also run out of a window over the portico in front of St. Paul’s Church. Thus under these mighty banners, furling and unfurling in the wind and hedged in by triple walls of human beings, amid the resonant chimes of Trinity, the crash of their own magnificent bands drowning the “God bless you” of many a gentle heart, the city of New York sent its first regiments to the field.

As each regiment passed through New York the concourse of people to see it off increased, till every fresh march was a triumph in advance of the brave deeds the soldiers were expected to perform. In less than a week banners and flags had become so thick across Broadway, that they fairly canopied the departing troops, and shouts loud and deep sent them on the way with many a blessing and hearty God speed.

Nor was this enthusiasm confined to crack regiments or the aristocratic soldiery of our cities. The working-men also came forth in masses, claiming a share in the glorious work. Of this class was the Sixth Massachusetts regiment, which had just baptized its colors in the streets of Baltimore, taking lead even of the chivalric regiments of the Empire City. Of this class was the thrice glorious Sixty-ninth, as brave a body of warmhearted Irishmen as ever trod the earth. Perhaps the greatest crowd that ever gathered to see a regiment off assembled when this body of adopted citizens marched forth under the star-spangled banner and the green flag of old Ireland. On that day human nature acknowledged its own universal kinship. The work-shop and the counting-room, the parlor and the basement met for once on a level of noble enthusiasm. The palace and the tenement house gave forth their inmates alike, for it was a common country which these men went forth to defend with their strength and, alas, their lives.

Proud mothers and wives and sisters, who had watched their beloved ones march off in the ranks of some favorite regiment, looked down from balconies and windows with tearful eyes upon the crowd of women who lined the pavements.

More particularly was this manifest on the departure of the Sixty-ninth. What warm, true hearts crowded the pavements that day! Old women, little children, whole households clung together, sorrowful but O, how proud of the valor that filled their eyes with tears.

If there was weeping on the pavement, it was answered with a feeling of gentle sisterhood from the balcony and window. The same bright eyes that had seen the Seventh, Seventy-first, Twelfth and other regiments pass, through a mist of tears, filled with sympathetic moisture when they saw these poor wives and mothers break through all restraint and rush wildly into the ranks for one more kiss, a hand-clasp, or, if no more, a last glance of loving recognition.

Perhaps some of these highly bred females envied the social freedom which allowed these women of the people to follow their husbands and brothers up to the moment of embarkation, without a thought of the world beyond. Many an embroidered handkerchief was waved, and many a sweet blessing murmured in gentle sympathy with these sister women when those hard-working, hard fighting, gloriously brave men went forth to earn imperishable renown.

Not only in New York, but all over the North and West these ovations were repeated. Boston Common was one scene of mustering forces, and its streets a panorama of armed men. Every State over which the blessed old star-spangled banner flung its folds, sent forth its sons, only complaining that so few were accepted. Like a prairie fire when the grass is dry, the war spirit leaped from town to town, and from State to State, till the whole North was ablaze with it.

Troops mustered into companies and massed themselves into regiments in the North and the great West so numerous and so fast that a swift pen might fail to keep the record. The uprising was general. Along our water courses, along our railroads, down the broad avenues of our cities, regiment after regiment swept a continued stream of armed men, all bearing toward the capital. For the whole great North rose as one man and sprang to arms. The plough was left in the furrow—the hammer upon the anvil—the saw upon the bench—the reaper in mid prairie—the shuttle in the loom—the pen upon the ledger—the engine untended—the press unfed—the busy sails of commerce unfurled, and the whirring mill unsupplied. A patient people had arisen in its might, with clear steel and the rolling thunder of cannon they were prepared to uphold the sacred majesty of the Union flag, while a splinter remained of the staff, or a shred of the fabric! An electric flash stirred the long-patient and dumb millions to life and speech, and under the red ensign of war they rallied in the common cause.

No one State or town could claim pre-eminence in patriotic fervor over its neighbors, for no where did this wild enthusiasm find check or hindrance. Our great cities could only claim superiority over the smaller towns from the hospitality with which they received troops from the country and cheered them onward to the battle field. Boston, Portland, New Haven, New York, Philadelphia, and the leading Western cities formed a great thoroughfare for the mustering army, for the country around poured their patriotic masses through the streets of these cities, and the press gave eclat to the movements which reflected back upon the cities themselves. But in the great North and the great West there was no nook or corner where this patriotic furor did not exist.

Monster Union meetings were held in every city of the loyal States, and within an incredibly short time, Three Hundred and Fifty Thousand men responded to the call of the President. Great as the number was, it proved but small to what would have volunteered had they been needed, or could they have been accepted, for with bonfires blazing upon every hill, and flags waving from every house-top—with the red, white and blue upon every breast, and the long roll beating in every heart—with wives sending their husbands—mothers their sons and girls their lovers, such a battle cry was raised as the earth had never listened to, and nations of the old world heard with astonishment.

REINFORCEMENT OF FORT PICKENS.

April 12, 1861.

The Navy Yard and forts in the harbor of Pensacola, from their extent and importance, were particularly the objects of insurgent ambition. General Bragg and his counsellors had so adroitly arranged their plans that it was confidently expected that the government forts, buildings and property would fall into their peaceable occupation. On the 12th of January, the navy yard and barracks, together with Fort Barrancas, fell into their possession, and shortly afterwards Fort McRae met with the same fate; but Lieutenant Slemmer, the United States officer in command of the forts of Pensacola harbor, courageously threw his small force of eighty-two men into Fort Pickens, and had thus far held at bay the large army of insurgents who were preparing to attack him.

The harbor of Pensacola is probably the largest and finest on the whole coast of the Mexican Gulf. The bay is six miles wide and about twelve long. The Warrington navy yard was seven miles by land from Pensacola and six miles and three-quarters by water. About a mile from the navy yard, west, stood Fort Barrancas, and a mile farther Fort McRae, which commands the bar. Opposite Fort McRae was Fort Pickens, the channel running between them. Near Fort Pickens was a redoubt. On the opposite side of Pensacola, across the bay, Santa Rosa island extends several miles to the bar, at the extremity of which is Fort Pickens. A vessel coming into the harbor must necessarily pass between Fort Pickens and Fort McRae, and in close proximity to Barrancas.

Fort Pickens is a bastioned work of the first class, built of New York granite; its walls forty-five feet in height and twelve in thickness. It is embrasured for two tiers of guns, placed under bomb-proof casemates, besides having one tier en barbette. The work was commenced in 1848 and finished in 1853, at a cost of nearly one million dollars. Its war complement of soldiers is 1,260. Its full armament consists of 210 guns, howitzers, and mortars, of all calibres.

Simultaneous with the determination to reinforce Fort Sumter, the government resolved to send relief to Fort Pickens, which was then threatened by a force of 7,000 men under General Bragg, strongly entrenched, and occupying the other forts in the harbor.

A fleet of six United States vessels lay in the harbor, and they had been notified by General Bragg that he would immediately open fire upon them and Fort Pickens also, should they attempt to reinforce the garrison.

Previous to the 10th of April, the steam frigate Powhatan and the transports Atlantic and Illinois had sailed from New York with troops, ordnance and provisions, for Fort Pickens; but before their arrival at that place, a bearer of dispatches from Washington reached the commander of the naval forces in the bay, with instructions to reinforce the fort. Between the hours of 11 and 12 o’clock on Friday night, April 12th, this was accomplished without bloodshed. “As soon as it became dark,” said an officer on board the sloop-of-war Brooklyn, one of the blockading fleet, “we began work with good will and in earnest. At first the marines from the frigate Sabine and the sloop St. Louis, came on board our vessel, and immediately after the accomplishment of this, the anchor was hoisted by the jolly old salts, with the merry chant of—

‘General Jackson won the day,

Heave, yeo ho!

At New Orleans, the people say

Yeo, heave yeo!’

We ran as close to the shore as possible, came to anchor, and without a moment’s delay, lowered the boats and filled them with troops.

“At 11 o’clock, Lieutenant Albert N. Smith, of Massachusetts, being in command, they started on their mission, uncertain if they would live to see the light of another day. As they left the side of the vessel, many a ‘God cause you to succeed,’ came from the lips of the loyal men at my side. If I live a thousand years I shall never forget the feelings I experienced when I saw those brave fellows shake hands with their old comrades. A tear would now and then glisten in the gloom, but be instantly wiped away with a clenched hand. These men knew their danger, and with the knowledge, dared to face it with a courage eminently worthy of praise—and may they receive it!

“The party were instructed to send up signals should they be attacked, and I do assure you never were keener eyes than ours on that eventful night, as we pierced into the darkness, momentarily expecting to see a rocket light up the midnight gloom; but none appeared. While we were thus anxiously awaiting some evidence of the success or non-success of their mission, a boat was hailed. A faint answer comes back: ‘Lieutenant Smith and the boat’s crew!’ and in whispers we hear the news, ‘they have been successful!’ Brother officers shake hands, and give Lieutenant Smith that praise justly deserved by him. They went around inside of the harbor, passed under the guns of Forts McRae and Barrancas without being heard, and safely landed all the troops without molestation.

“This being successfully accomplished, it was almost instantly concluded to make a new attempt, and orders were given that all the marines in the squadron should take to their boats, preparatory to their being put in the fort. This being done, the steamer Wyandotte took them in charge, and towed them as far as she could go, when they left her and pulled into the harbor, taking the same course the first party had, and in good time reached the fort, and safely landed all who were in the boats. Just as the day was breaking, we saw from our deck the boats shoving off from the beach; and when they returned to us, our anchor was instantly ‘up,’ and we steaming to our old anchorage with very different sensations from those we had when we started for the work. Thus the Brooklyn accomplished what she was sent here for,—the reinforcement of Fort Pickens in spite of General Bragg.”

A few days after this fort had been so nobly reinforced, the splendid steamer Atlantic sailed into the Union fleet, laden with troops for the fort. The next day she was joined by the frigate Powhatan, and again by the Illinois, all laden with troops and military stores. Thus a thousand more troops were thrown into the stronghold, which, with the fleet outside, made it impregnable.

There is no doubt that an attack upon Fort Pickens was contemplated the very night these reinforcements arrived. The assaulting party was composed of five hundred picked men, two hundred and fifty of whom were from the Mississippi Ninth, to be led by C. H. Harris of the Home Guard; fifty from the Tenth Mississippi, and the others from other troops at Pensacola. All necessary preparations were made for moving about 11 o’clock at night. The storming party were led down to the Navy Yard, from whence it would probably have embarked in boats.

It is surmised that Colonel Forney would have been the leader. There was no doubt entertained of his success. Before the force arrived it was evident the fort had been reinforced, and all thought of the meditated assault was abandoned. The men picked for this special service lay on their arms all night in the Navy Yard.

BURNING OF HARPER’S FERRY ARSENAL.

April 18, 1861.

The ordinance of secession of the State of Virginia was adopted in secret session on the 17th of April, and the Governor of the State, John Letcher, immediately issued orders for the seizure of the Federal posts and property by the military of the State. A most important post to be first secured comprised the extensive and valuable arsenal, with all its workshops and machinery for the manufacture of arms, at Harper’s Ferry, a place which had been rendered familiar as a household word, from its seizure by John Brown and his party, in the autumn of 1859.

Harper’s Ferry is situated in Jefferson county, Virginia, at the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers, and is 173 miles distant from Richmond, 57 from Washington, and 80 from Baltimore. The population was about 5,000. The arsenal at this place contained 15,000 stand of arms, in addition to other military stores, then in charge of Lieutenant R. Jones, with a detachment of U. S. Rifles, numbering 43 men. Lieutenant Jones had received advice from Washington that his post was in imminent danger. He was directed to be prepared for any emergency that might arise. On the 17th he received information from various sources that an attack would be made on the night of the 18th. Early in the evening of that day, the little garrison commenced preparations to destroy the arsenal and its contents by fire. The windows and doors of the buildings were then thrown open, that the flames might have a full current of air. At nine o’clock authentic information reached Lieutenant Jones that 2000 men were close at hand.

The men worked bravely, cutting up planks and splitting timbers into kindling-wood, which were heaped ready for the flames. They emptied their mattresses, filled them with powder, and carried them thus into the buildings, that no suspicion might be excited among the people. The arms were then placed in the best position to be destroyed by the explosion, and the combustibles deposited in different places in the shops, that all might be ready.

When all was completed, the fires were started in the combustibles heaped in the carpenters’ shop. The trains leading to the powder were ignited, and the men were led forth.

All at once a cry of fire rang through the town. The frightened inhabitants rushed from the houses, and as Lieutenant Jones and his men entered the gateway of the bridge, an excited crowd pursued him with menaces and threats of vengeance. He wheeled his men into line, and announced his determination to fire upon the pursuers if they molested him. The people then fell back, and he escaped by the canal and took refuge in the woods.

A quarter of an hour after, when this band of valiant men were grouped in the darkness of the woods, the first thunders of the explosion echoed through the hills, and flames leaped forth from the burning buildings, illuminating the grand scenery of the place into wonderful beauty. The water, the village, and those glorious mountain passes that surround Harper’s Ferry with a grandeur which the whole world recognizes, were illuminated into all their green and crystal depths. After pausing a moment to witness the result of their own noble work, this gallant officer and his brave men turned their faces northward, and left Harper’s Ferry, saluted by fresh bursts of explosion, and lighted onward by jets of flame that leaped up from the surging clouds in which the arsenal was enveloped, till the sky glowed above them like a golden canopy.

Leaving the scene of conflagration behind, Lieutenant Jones made a hurried march toward Hagerstown, Maryland, wading through streams and swamps, and reached that place at seven o’clock on the morning of the 19th. There he immediately procured means of conveyance, and started for Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, which he reached in the afternoon in an exhausted condition. The men were covered with mud and dirt, and were overcome with fatigue and hunger, having eaten nothing since leaving Harper’s Ferry. They were hospitably entertained by the inhabitants, and departed in the afternoon train for Carlisle barracks. Lieutenant Jones and his men received the approbation and thanks of the Government for their judicious conduct on this occasion, and he was commissioned Assistant Quartermaster-General, U. S. A., with the rank of Captain.

The arsenal buildings were immediately taken possession of by the rebel authorities, and used for the purpose of making and repairing arms, until they again came into possession of the Federal authorities.

THROUGH BALTIMORE.

A terrible civil war, destined to be without parallel for bitter intenseness, was now fully revealed. The curtain that had so long screened the enemies of the Union in their machinations against the Government, had been raised at Fort Sumter; and in the seizure of Harper’s Ferry arsenal, although its usefulness to them had been seriously impaired by the true hearts and hands that applied the torch, and rendered the darkness of night lurid with its conflagration, desolation and ruin had already began their march, leaving their footprints in ashes among the lovely scenes of civilized life, and rioting amid the legendary grandeur and time-honored places of the Old Dominion.

It needed but one act more to encircle us with the thunders of war—to plunge the nation into an almost fathomless ocean of civil hatred and revenge, and leave upon the pages of history the unhappy record of many an ensanguined field. The green sward of a happy, prosperous and free land only remained to be crimsoned with blood! The heart of some martyr freemen needed only to be drained of its life-blood, and the stripes of our old flag dyed a deeper crimson in the precious flood. Soon, too soon, alas! this last fatal act was accomplished. The day after the burning of Harper’s Ferry saw the streets of Baltimore red with sacred blood, and a nation shuddered as the lightning spread the fatal news from State to State.

For months threats had been whispered that Washington should be seized; that an armed mob should revel in the capital and drive Lincoln from the White House. These threats were not idle boastings, as the confidence, celerity, and preparation of the insurgents proved. While the country north of the Potomac was solacing itself with dreams of peace—while plenty was filling every coffer to overflowing, great preparations had been making, and that for a very long time, to secure the end they now had in view. Sudden, unexpected, like the deep tolling of a midnight alarm-bell, the news fell upon the country. Fear, amounting almost to panic, seized upon the people, and when the orders were issued for the instant assembling of troops, the rush to arms was proof positive of this deep alarm.

As in the olden days, the sons of Massachusetts—brave, hardy, fearless as their own sea-washed rock—rushed first to arms and responded to the call. In less than twenty-four hours, seventeen hundred men were waiting in Boston—armed, ready and anxious to march. The order came, and early in the morning of the nineteenth of April—a day memorable in the history of the country, as the anniversary of the battle of Lexington—the Sixth Regiment of Massachusetts militia, commanded by Col. E. P. Jones, of Pepperell, and accompanied by three companies from another regiment, attached temporarily to his command (comprising, in all, about one thousand men), left Philadelphia for Washington, arriving in Baltimore at ten o’clock, A. M. The same train also contained about twelve hundred men from Philadelphia, under the command of General Small. These were unarmed, provision having been made for their being supplied, in this respect, on their arrival at Washington.

On the arrival of the train at the President-street depot, the locomotives were detached, and horses substituted, occasioning much delay, for there was an inadequate supply. A very large crowd had gathered around, and though the reception was not one of courtesy, yet no one would have anticipated serious trouble.

Six cars passed in safety, before the fast-increasing mob (for it could now be called by no other name), succeeded in obstructing the track, and thus cutting off three companies of the Massachusetts troops from their comrades, besides General Small’s command, who had remained at the depot of the Philadelphia road. A hasty consultation was held, and it was determined by the officers to march the Massachusetts companies to their destination; and the detachment, under the command of Captain Follansbee, at once set out.

Then it was that the long-smothered fires burst out openly, and were not to be controlled. In the streets of the Monumental City, in the face of a little band of patriots, and in defiance of the civilized world, a secession flag—a mutilated effigy of the stars and stripes—was flaunted in the face of these Massachusetts men, with taunts and sneers, which they received in grave silence. Hemmed in, surrounded, cut off from assistance, the sons of Massachusetts were forbidden to proceed, and boastfully taunted with their inability to march through the city. Cheer upon cheer rang forth for the South, Jeff. Davis, Secession and South Carolina, and mocking groans for the tried and true friends of the Union.

But the sons of men who fought at Bunker Hill, at Monmouth, and Valley Forge, could not be made to understand the words, “Turn back.” The blood of patriots had been transmitted to them, and no shame could fall upon the memories of their revolutionary fathers by their acts. They had started for Washington—started to help form a nation’s bulwark around a nation’s heart, and were not to be stayed by sneers or threats.

“Forward the Sixth,”—the command given and obeyed in that moment of peril, has rendered the Sixth regiment of Massachusetts immortal! Forward, as at Lexington, with fearless hearts, unblenching lips, and unswerving tread, they marched on boldly, as they would have gone up to the cannon’s mouth.

“Forward!” A bridge half destroyed, torn up, difficult of crossing, was passed; then the air was darkened with missiles of every dangerous name and character, showered upon their devoted heads. Stones, brick-backs, clubs, anything savage hands could clutch, were hurled from street and house-top, while the hissing rush of shot and ball played wildly from musket and revolver.

Ah! it was a cruel, cold-blooded murder of innocent men—of brothers. An act of treachery unparalleled in the history of any nation, whether civilized or savage—a rendering of the “Monuments” of Baltimore a mockery for all time.

Struck down by shot and stones, wounded, surrounded, hopeless of help, these brave men yet stood their ground and even questioned whether it would be right to retaliate. A question without a parallel and proving the pure gold of those brave hearts.

ATTACK ON THE MASSACHUSETTS SIXTH IN BALTIMORE.

But the time when forbearance ceases to be a virtue, came at last to these heroic men—these tender-hearted, christianized soldiers; when self-preservation, the sternly just primal law of our nature commanded them to defend themselves. With firm front, but with sad hearts they prepared to execute the command, and many a form that would not have trembled amid the shock of battle, trembled now as his musket rang the death peal.

Unable to stand the charge, to face the deadly music their own cowardly hearts had awakened—afraid to listen to the awful tumult of battle, the mob broke and sought also to arm themselves. Save from private sources, stores, gunshops and the like, they failed in securing any, for the armories had been well protected in anticipation of this possible event. An incessant storm of stones, however, answered every musket shot, and while the fearless “Sixth” still pressed on, more than one of their number fell by the way, and was borne off helpless and wounded, by the police.

The fight was a running one, terrific in its results, as it was rapid in its execution, and though the soldiers at length succeeded in reaching the depot, with the loss of only two killed and nine wounded; while their assailants’ loss was nine killed and eight severely wounded, yet the streets were stained with American blood, drawn by American hands. The pavement stones were red with the life-tide of brothers. Stained indelibly, for though the marks have long since been effaced by the pure rains of a merciful heaven, and the ceaseless tramp of busy feet, yet they are graven on the records of the age with a pen of fire, carving deeper than steel, and more lasting than marble!

The unarmed Pennsylvania troops, taking the alarm, were sent back, though not without injury from the infuriated mob.

The band of the glorious Sixth, consisting of twenty-four persons, together with their musical instruments, occupied a car by themselves from Philadelphia to Baltimore. By some accident the musicians’ car got switched off at the Canton depot, so that, instead of being the first, it was left in the rear of all the others, and after the attack had been made by the mob upon the soldiers, they came upon the car in which the band was still sitting, wholly unarmed, and incapable of making any defence. The infuriated demons approached them, howling and yelling, and poured in upon them a shower of stones, broken iron, and other missiles; wounding some severely, and demolishing their instruments. Some of the miscreants jumped upon the roof of the car, and, with a bar of iron, beat a hole through it, while others were calling for powder to blow them all up in a heap.

Finding that it would be sure destruction to remain longer in the car, the poor fellows jumped out to meet their fiendish assailants hand to hand. They were saluted with a shower of stones, but took to their heels, fighting their way through the crowd, and running at random, without knowing in what direction to go for assistance or shelter.

As they were hurrying along, a rough-looking man suddenly jumped in front of their leader, and exclaimed: “This way, boys! this way!”

It was the first friendly voice they had heard since entering Baltimore; they stopped to ask no questions, but followed their guide, who took them up a narrow court, where they found an open door, into which they rushed, being met inside by a powerful-looking woman, who grasped each one by the hand, and directed them upstairs. The last of their band was knocked senseless just as he was entering the door, by a stone, which struck him on the head; but the woman who had welcomed them, immediately caught up their fallen comrade, and carried him in her arms up the stairs.

“You are perfectly safe here, boys,” said the brave woman, who directly proceeded to wash and bind up their wounds.

After having done this, she procured them food, and then told them to strip off their uniforms and put on the clothes she had brought them, a motley assortment of baize jackets, ragged coats, and old trowsers. Thus equipped, they were enabled to go out in search of their companions, without danger of attack from the mob, which had given them so rough a reception.

They then learned the particulars of the attack upon the soldiers, and of their escape, and saw lying at the station the two men who had been killed, and the others who had been wounded. On going back to the house where they had been so humanely treated, they found that their clothes had been carefully tied up, and with their battered instruments, had been sent to the depot of the Philadelphia railroad, where they were advised to go themselves. They did not long hesitate, but started in the next train, and arrived at Philadelphia just in time to meet the Eighth regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers.

Contrast this generous act with that of an old gray-haired man, aged more than sixty-five years, who saw one of the Massachusetts soldiers in the act of levelling his musket, when he rushed in his shirt sleeves from his shop, disarmed the man by main force, and killed him with the bayonet—and you have some idea of the conflicting elements which composed the Baltimore riot.

Increasing by what it had fed on, the lawless spirit ran still more high; its black waves rolled and surged, and no power could be found strong enough to control them. The demon spirit that ran riot during the days of Robespierre, and the fiendish hours of the “Reign of Terror,” appeared in the streets of Baltimore, and foul lips sang rebellious songs. Secession and murder mingling together in rude discord.

The rulers were impotent to check the storm, or control the whirlwind. The people were for the time masters—the authorities helpless.

On this memorable 19th of April, the writer of these pages was on her way from Washington to New York. The train in which she travelled was loaded down with persons going northward, for Washington was not considered a safe place to sojourn in that week, especially for ladies.

About ten miles from Baltimore we met the train which bore the Sixth Massachusetts regiment from the scene of its late encounter. Both trains slackened speed, and instantly it flew like wildfire along the cars that there had been riot and bloodshed in Baltimore, and the brave fellows we had passed had been attacked in their passage through the town. The news was received with great excitement, that grew more and more intense until our engine thundered into the depot. The fighting was over, but a mob of morose and cruel-looking men, with a few black women and children, still hung around the building, and we passed out through a lane of scowling faces.

The horse railroad had been torn up and so blockaded that there was no hopes of reaching the Philadelphia cars by that way. With difficulty we procured a carriage and were drawn over the scene of conflict. The railroad was almost obliterated; piles of lumber, fifteen feet high, were heaped upon it. Immense anchors lay across it, forming an iron barricade. Every window along the line was crowded with eager, scared faces, mostly black, and those that were white, evidently of the lowest order.

It became impossible to pass along the railroad, for it was completely blocked up. We turned into a side street, and at last took our places in the Philadelphia train. Here two or three men in uniform entered the cars, and after the train started they were seen talking earnestly with the conductor near our seat. It seemed that the Pennsylvania regiment had been scattered, and while a train had returned toward Philadelphia with the larger portion of the men, some twenty-five or thirty were grouped on the wayside, some miles from the city, hoping that our train would take them in.

The conductor was inexorable. His orders were to proceed direct—besides, he had no room, every seat was crowded. This was true; but all the gentlemen, among whom was Senator Wilkinson, of Minnesota, and several ladies that sat within hearing, pleaded that the men should be taken in, and all offered to surrender their own seats. But it was of no avail—the conductor had his orders.

A few minutes after the officers had retreated we passed a platform on the wayside on which these unlucky soldiers were grouped, in anxious expectation that the train would stop, but it went steadily by, leaving the most disappointed and gloomy faces behind that one often looks upon.

We afterwards learned that these poor fellows wandered around the country for three days, and many of them came back to Philadelphia on foot.

If they were sad at being left, those in the cars were both sorrowful and indignant that they had not been taken up. It seemed to them an act of wanton cruelty; and one of the company, at least, has not yet been able to change her opinion on the subject.

At Wilmington we passed the town in which were the companions of these deserted men. Their train had paused in the town, which we found one blaze of excitement. As the news spread, cheer after cheer arose for the stars and stripes, the soldiers, the government, and everything else around which a patriotic cry could centre, rang up from the streets. The people were fairly wild when they saw that the soldiers were driven back.

In every town and at every depot this wild spirit of indignation increased as we advanced. Philadelphia was full of armed men; regiments were rushing to the arsenals, groups of men talked eagerly in the streets—martial music sounded near the Continental Hotel at intervals all night. The city was one scene of wild commotion. In the morning the Seventh New York regiment came in. The day before they had left the Empire City one blaze of star-spangled flags and in a tumult of patriotic enthusiasm. That morning they were hailed in Philadelphia with like spirit. Expecting to march through Baltimore, they panted for an opportunity of avenging the noble men who had fallen there. The citizens met them with generous hospitality, and their passage through Philadelphia was an ovation.

But their indignation towards the Baltimorians was not to be appeased by fighting their own way through that city. Orders reached them to advance toward Washington through Annapolis, and they obeyed, much against the general inclination of the regiment.

I have said that the authorities in Baltimore were powerless; they had no means of learning how far the secession spirit had spread through the city. It is true the riot of the 19th had been ostensibly the action of a low mob, but how far the same spirit extended among the people no one could guess.

On the 20th the mob became more and more belligerent. It assembled at Canton, fired a pistol at the engineer of the Philadelphia train when it came in, and forcing the passengers to leave the cars, rushed in themselves and compelled the engineer to take them back to Gunpowder bridge. There the train was stopped while the mob set fire to the draw bridge, then returned to Bush river bridge, burned the draw there, and finished their raid by burning Canton bridge.

While this was going on outside the city, materials for fresh commotion were gathering in the streets.

All through the day the accessions from the country were coming in. Sometimes a squad of infantry, sometimes a troop of horse, and once a small park of artillery. It was nothing extraordinary to see a “solitary horseman” riding in from the country, with shot-gun, powder-horn and flask. Some came with provender lashed to the saddle, prepared to picket off for the night. Boys accompanied their fathers, accoutred apparently with the sword and holster-pistols that had done service a century ago. There appeared strange contrasts between the stern, solemn bearing of the father, and the buoyant, excited, enthusiastic expressions of the boy’s face, eloquent with devotion and patriotism; for mistaken and wrong, they were not the less actuated by the most unselfish spirit of loyalty. They hardly knew, any of them, for what they had so suddenly came to Baltimore. They had a vague idea, only, that Maryland had been invaded, and that it was the solemn duty of her sons to protect their soil from the encroachments of a hostile force.

In the streets of the lower part of the city, were gathered immense crowds among whom discussions and the high pitch of excitement which discussion engenders, grew clamorous. The mob—for Baltimore street was one vast mob—was surging to and fro, uncertain in what direction to move, and apparently without any special purpose. Many had small secession cards pinned on their coat collars, and not a few were armed with guns, pistols and knives, of which they made the most display.

Thus the day ended and the night came on. During the darkness the whole city seemed lying in wait for the foe. Every moment the mob expected the descent of some Federal regiment upon them, and the thirst for strife had grown so fierce that terrible bloodshed must have followed if the troops from Philadelphia or Harrisburg had attempted to pass through Baltimore then.

On Sunday, April 21, the city was in a state of unparalleled excitement. Private citizens openly carried arms in the streets. Along the line of the railroad almost every house was supplied with muskets or revolvers and missiles, in some instances even with small cannon. Volunteers were enlisting rapidly, and the streets became more and more crowded. Abundance of arms had sprung to light, as if by magic, in rebellious hands. Troops were continually arriving and placing themselves in readiness for action.

A great crowd was constantly surging around the telegraph office, waiting anxiously for news. The earnest inquiry was as to the whereabouts of the New York troops—the most frequent topic, the probable results of an attempt on the part of the Seventh regiment to force a passage through Baltimore. All agreed that the force could never go through—all agreed that it would make the attempt if ordered to do so, and no one seemed to entertain a doubt that it would leave a winrow of dead bodies from the ranks of those who assailed it in the streets through which it might attempt to pass.

As the wires of the telegraph leading to New York had been cut, there was no news to be had for the crowd from that direction.

The police force were entirely in sympathy with the secessionists, and indisposed to act against the mob. Marshal Kane and the Commissioners made no concealment of their proclivities for the secession movement.

Amid this tumult the Mayor of Baltimore and a committee of citizens started for Washington. Their object was to influence the President against forwarding troops through the city in its present agitated state. But the knowledge of his departure did nothing toward allaying the excitement.

About eight o’clock, the streets began again to be crowded. The barrooms and public resorts were closed, that the incentive to precipitate action might not be too readily accessible. Nevertheless there was much excitement, and among the crowd were many men from the country, who carried shot and duck guns, and old-fashioned horse-pistols, such as the “Maryland line” might have carried from the first to the present war. The best weapons appeared to be in the hands of young men—boys of eighteen—with the physique, dress and style of deportment cultivated by the “Dead Rabbits” of New York.

About ten o’clock, a cry was raised that 3,000 Pennsylvania troops were at the Calvert street depot of the Pennsylvania railroad, and were about to take up their line of march through the city. It was said that the 3,000 were at Pikesville, about fifteen miles from the city, and were going to fight their way around the city. The crowd were not disposed to interfere with a movement that required a preliminary tramp of fifteen miles through a heavy sand. But the city authorities, however, rapidly organized and armed some three or four companies and sent them towards Pikesville. Ten of the Adams’ Express wagons passed up Baltimore street, loaded with armed men. In one or two there were a number of mattresses, as if wounded men were anticipated. A company of cavalry also started for Pikesville to sustain the infantry that had been expressed. Almost before the last of the expedition had left the city limits, word was telegraphed to Marshal Kane by Mayor Brown from Washington, that the government had ordered the Pennsylvania troops back to Harrisburgh, from the point they had been expected to move on to Baltimore. It seemed incredible, but, of course, satisfactory to the belligerents.

The moment it was known that the government had abandoned the intention of forcing troops through Baltimore, this intense commotion settled into comparative calm, but the city was forced to feel the effect of its own folly. The regular passenger trains north had been stopped.

Many business men have been utterly ruined by the extraordinary position into which the city was plunged through the action of the mob. Capital has been swept away, and commercial advantages sacrificed, that no time or enterprise can replace. Those engaged in trade, have no part in these troubles except to suffer. The mob had them in complete subjection, and a stain has been cast on the city which no time can efface. Yet the whole of this attack was doubtless the work of those classes who form the bane and dregs of society, in every great city; after events have proved that it was the uprising of a lawless mob, not the expression of a people. But the Mayor of the city and the Governor of the State were for a few days in which these revolters triumphed alike powerless. In this strait they notified the authorities in Washington that troops could not be passed through that city without bloodshed.

The difficulties and dangers of the 19th of April were speedily removed by President Lincoln’s determination to march troops intended for Washington by another route, backed by the determination and efficiency of the government and by the supplies which were sent to the aid of loyal men of the city and State, and thereby Maryland has been saved from anarchy, desolation and ruin. The work of impious hands was stayed—a star preserved to our banner, and the right vindicated without unnecessary loss of life! But nothing save great caution and forbearance almost unparalleled in civil wars, rescued Baltimore from destruction.

When the news of the disaster to the brave Massachusetts regiment reached the old Bay State, a feeling of profound sorrow and deep indignation seized upon the people. Troops gathered to the rescue in battalions, armed men arose at every point, and every railroad verging toward Washington became a great military highway. Not only Massachusetts, but all New England looked upon the outrage with generous indignation, as if each State had seen its own sons stricken down. It seemed to be a strife of patriotism which should get its men first to the field. Directly after the Massachusetts troops, the first regiment of Rhode Island Volunteers passed through New York, on their way to the South. Governor Sprague, who had magnanimously contributed one hundred thousand dollars to the cause, accompanied these troops, as commander-in-chief of the Rhode Island forces. His staff consisted of Colonels Frieze, Goddard, Arnold, and Captain A. W. Chapin, Assistant Adjutant-General. And this was followed by a continued rush of armed men till all the great thoroughfares leading to the capital bristled with steel, and reverberated with the tramp of soldiery.

Governor Andrews sent to Maryland requesting that the martyred soldiers should be reverently sent back to Massachusetts, that the State might give them honored burial. This request was complied with, Governor Hicks responding in a delicate and sympathetic manner, and not only Massachusetts but a whole nation awarded them the glory of first dying for a country that will never forget them. The names of these men were, Sumner H. Needham, of Lawrence; Addison O. Whitney, of Lowell City Guards; and Luther C. Ladd, Lowell City Guards.

MILITARY OCCUPATION OF ANNAPOLIS, Md.

April 21, 1861.

On the 18th of April, the Eighth Massachusetts regiment, under the command of General Butler, left Boston for Washington. On arriving at Philadelphia, he ascertained that all communication with Washington by the ordinary line of travel through Baltimore had been cut off, and telegraphic operations suspended. He proceeded to the Susquehanna river, and at Perryville seized the immense ferry-boat “Maryland,” belonging to the railroad company, and steamed with his regiment for Annapolis. Through the supposed treachery of the pilot, the boat was grounded on the bar before that place, and they were detained over night. The arrival of troops at this point proved of vital importance. A conspiracy had been formed by a band of secessionists to seize the old frigate Constitution, which lay moored at the wharf of the Naval Academy at that place, being in service as a school for the cadets. Captain Devereux, with his company, was ordered to take possession of the noble old craft, which was promptly done, and the vessel towed to a safe distance from the landing. Governor Hicks, of Maryland, hearing of their arrival, sent a protest against troops being landed at that place.

On Monday, the 22d, the troops landed at the Naval Academy, followed by the New York Seventh regiment, which had just arrived on board the steamer Boston, from Philadelphia, by the help of which vessel the Maryland was enabled to get off the bar.

In order to insure the ready transportation of troops and provisions which were to follow him by the same route, General Butler seized several vessels in the neighborhood, and promptly entered them into the United States service. Meantime a Pennsylvania regiment had arrived at Havre de Grace, and, anticipating the speedy accession of reinforcements from New York by water, three companies of the Eighth Massachusetts were detached as an engineer corps to repair the road to the Annapolis and Elk Ridge Railroad, of which General Butler had taken military possession.

The Seventy-first New York and other regiments having arrived during the night of April 23d, early on the following morning the Seventh regiment, from New York, took up its line of march on the track to Washington Junction. A member of this regiment, young O’Brien the poet, pays a merited tribute to the brave men who preceded them:

On the morning of the 22d we were in sight of Annapolis, off which the Constitution was lying, and there found the Eighth regiment of Massachusetts volunteers on board the Maryland. They were aground, owing, it is supposed, to the treachery of the captain, whom they put in irons and wanted to hang. I regret to say that they did not do it. During the greater portion of that forenoon we were occupied in trying to get the Maryland off the sand-bar on which she was grounded. From our decks we could see the men in file trying to rock her, so as to facilitate our tugging. These men were without water and without food, were well-conducted and uncomplaining, and behaved in all respects like heroes. They were under the command of Colonel Butler, and I regret that that gentleman did not care more for the comforts of men whose subsequent pluck proved that nothing was too good for them.

On the afternoon of the 22d we landed at the Annapolis dock, after having spent hours in trying to relieve the Maryland. For the first time in his life your correspondent was put to work to roll flour-barrels. He was entrusted with the honorable and onerous duty of transporting stores from the steamer to the dock. Later still he descended to the position of mess servant, when, in company with gentlemen well known in Broadway for immaculate kids, he had the honor of attending on his company with buckets of cooked meat and crackers—the only difference between him and Co. and the ordinary waiter being, that the former were civil.

We were quartered in the buildings belonging to the Naval School at Annapolis. I had a bunking-place in what is there called a fort, which is a rickety structure that a lucifer match would set on fire, but furnished with imposing guns. I suppose it was merely built to practice the cadets, because as a defence it is worthless. The same evening boats were sent off from the yard, and towards nightfall the Massachusetts men landed, fagged, hungry, thirsty, but indomitable.

The two days that we remained at Annapolis were welcome. We had been without a fair night’s sleep since we left New York, and even the hard quarters we had there were a luxury compared to the dirty decks of the Boston. Besides, there were natural attractions. The grounds are very prettily laid out, and in the course of my experience I never saw a handsomer or better bred set of young men than the cadets. Twenty had left the school owing to political convictions. The remainder are sound Union fellows, eager to prove their devotion to the flag. After spending a delightful time in the Navy School, resting and amusing ourselves, our repose was disturbed at 9 P. M., April 23, by rockets being thrown up in the bay. The men were scattered all over the grounds; some in bed, others walking or smoking, all more or less undressed. The rockets being of a suspicious character, it was conjectured that a Southern fleet was outside, and our drummer beat the rollcall to arms. From the stroke of the drum until the time that every man, fully equipped and in fighting order, was in the ranks, was exactly, by watch, seven minutes. The alarm, however, proved to be false, the vessels in the offing proving to be laden with the Seventy-first and other New York regiments; so that, after an unpremeditated trial of our readiness for action, we were permitted to retire to our couches, which means, permit me to say, a blanket on the floor, with a military overcoat over you, and a nasal concert all around you, that, in noise and number, outvies Musard’s concerts monstres.

On the morning of the 24th of April we started on what afterwards proved to be one of the hardest marches on record. The secessionists of Annapolis and the surrounding districts had threatened to cut us off in our march, and even went so far as to say that they would attack our quarters. The dawn saw us up. Knapsacks, with our blankets and overcoats strapped on them, were piled on the green. A brief and insufficient breakfast was taken, our canteens filled with vinegar and water, cartridges distributed to each man, and after mustering and loading, we started on our first march through a hostile country.

General Scott has stated, as I have been informed, that the march that we performed from Annapolis to the Junction is one of the most remarkable on record. I know that I felt it the most fatiguing, and some of our officers have told me that it was the most perilous. We marched the first eight miles under a burning sun, in heavy marching order, in less than three hours; and it is well known that, placing all elementary considerations out of the way, marching on a railroad track is the most harassing. We started at about 8 o’clock, A. M., and for the first time saw the town of Annapolis, which, without any disrespect to that place, I may say looked very much as if some celestial schoolboy, with a box of toys under his arm, had dropped a few houses and men as he was going home from school, and that the accidental settlement was called Annapolis. Through the town we marched, the people unsympathizing, but afraid. They saw the Seventh for the first time, and for the first time they realized the men that they had threatened.

The tracks had been torn up between Annapolis and the Junction, and here it was that the wonderful qualities of the Massachusetts Eighth regiment came out. The locomotives had been taken to pieces by the inhabitants, in order to prevent our travel. In steps a Massachusetts volunteer, looks at the piece-meal engine, takes up a flange, and says coolly, “I made this engine, and I can put it together again.” Engineers were wanted when the engine was ready. Nineteen stepped out of the ranks. The rails were torn up. Practical railroad makers out of the regiment laid them again, and all this, mind you, without care or food. These brave boys, I say, were starving while they were doing this good work. As we marched along the track that they had laid, they greeted us with ranks of smiling but hungry faces. One boy told me, with a laugh on his young lips, that he had not eaten anything for thirty hours. There was not, thank God, a haversack in our regiment that was not emptied into the hands of these ill-treated heroes, nor a flask that was not at their disposal.

Our march lay through an arid, sandy, tobacco-growing country. The sun poured on our heads like hot lava. The Sixth and Second companies were sent on for skirmishing duty, under the command of Captains Clarke and Nevers, the latter commanding as senior officer. A car, on which was placed a howitzer, loaded with grape and canister, headed the column, manned by the engineer and artillery corps, commanded by Lieutenant Bunting. This was the rallying point of the skirmishing party, on which, in case of difficulty, they could fall back. In the centre of the column came the cars, laden with medical stores, and bearing our sick and wounded, while the extreme rear was brought up with a second howitzer, loaded also with grape and canister. The engineer corps, of course, had to do the forwarding work. New York dandies, sir—but they built bridges, laid rails, and headed the regiment through. After marching about eight miles, during which time several men caved in from exhaustion, and one young gentleman was sunstruck, and sent back to New York, we halted, and instantly, with the divine instinct which characterizes the hungry soldier, proceeded to forage. The worst of it was, there was no foraging to be done. The only house within reach was inhabited by a lethargic person, who, like most Southern men, had no idea of gaining money by labor. We offered him extravagant prices to get us fresh water, and it was with the utmost reluctance that we could get him to obtain us a few pailfuls. Over the mantel-piece of his miserable shanty I saw—a curious coincidence—the portrait of Colonel Duryea, of our regiment.

After a brief rest of about an hour, we again commenced our march; a march which lasted until the next morning—a march than which in history, nothing but those marches in which defeated troops have fled from the enemy, can equal. Our Colonel, it seems, determined to march by railroad, in preference to the common road, inasmuch as he had obtained such secret information as led him to suppose that we were waited for on the latter route. Events justified his judgment. There were cavalry troops posted in defiles to cut us off. They could not have done it, of course, but they could have harassed us severely. As we went along the railroad we threw out skirmishing parties from the Second and Sixth companies, to keep the road clear. I know not if I can describe that night’s march. I have dim recollections of deep cuts through which we passed, gloomy and treacherous-looking, with the moon shining full on our muskets, while the banks were wrapped in shade, and each moment expecting to see the flash and hear the crack of the rifle of the Southern guerilla. The tree frogs and lizards made a mournful music as we passed. The soil on which we travelled was soft and heavy. The sleepers, lying at intervals across the track, made the march terribly fatiguing. On all sides dark, lonely pine woods stretched away, and high over the hooting of owls, or the plaintive petition of the whip-poor-will, rose the bass commands of “Halt! Forward, march!”—and when we came to any ticklish spot, the word would run from the head of the column along the lines, “Holes,” “Bridge—pass it along,” &c.

As the night wore on, the monotony of the march became oppressive. Owing to our having to explore every inch of the way, we did not make more than a mile or a mile and a half an hour. We ran out of stimulants, and almost out of water. Most of us had not slept for four nights, and as the night advanced our march was almost a stagger. This was not so much fatigue as want of excitement. Our fellows were spoiling for a light, and when a dropping shot was heard in the distance, it was wonderful to see how the languid legs straightened, and the column braced itself for action. If we had had even the smallest kind of a skirmish, the men would have been able to walk to Washington. As it was, we went sleepily on. I myself fell asleep, walking in the ranks. Numbers, I find, followed my example; but never before was there shown such indomitable pluck and perseverance as the Seventh showed in that march of twenty miles. The country that we passed through seemed to have been entirely deserted. The inhabitants, who were going to kill us when they thought we daren’t come through, now vamosed their respective ranches, and we saw them not. Houses were empty. The population retired into the interior, burying their money, and carrying their families along with them. They, it seems, were under the impression that we came to ravage and pillage, and they fled, as the Gauls must have fled, when Attila and his Huns came down on them from the North. As we did at Annapolis, we did in Maryland State. We left an impression that cannot be forgotten. Everything was paid for. No discourtesy was offered to any inhabitant, and the sobriety of the regiment should be an example to others. Nothing could have been more effective or energetic than the movements of the Engineer Corps, to whom we were indebted for the rebuilding of a bridge in an incredibly short space of time.

The secret of this forced march, as well as our unexpected descent on Annapolis, was the result of Colonel Lefferts’ judgment, which has since been sustained by events. Finding that the line along the Potomac was closed, and the route to Washington, by Baltimore, equally impracticable, he came to the conclusion that Annapolis, commanding, as it did, the route to the Capital, must of necessity be made the basis of military operations. It was important to the government to have a free channel through which to transport troops, and this post presented the readiest means. The fact that since then all the Northern troops have passed through the line that we thus opened, is a sufficient comment on the admirable judgment that decided on the movement. It secured the integrity of the regiment, and saved lives, the loss of which would have plunged New York into mourning. Too much importance cannot be attached to this strategy. To it the Seventh regiment is indebted for being here at present, intact and sound.

On Thursday, April 24, this regiment reached Washington, having taken the cars at the junction. They were followed directly by their noble comrades of the march, the Massachusetts Eighth, and immediately moved into quarters.

While the troops under Butler and Lefferts were lying at Annapolis, great anxiety was felt regarding them at Washington. The lamented Lander was then at the capital, pleading for the privilege of raising a regiment for the defence of the government, but, for some inexplicable cause, General Scott had not yet accepted his services. With Baltimore in open revolt, and Annapolis doubtful in its loyalty, this anxiety about the troops become so urgent, that Lander was sent forward to Annapolis, with general directions to aid the troops with all his ability, and to direct Colonel Butler not to land his men until the kindly feeling of the citizens of Annapolis was ascertained.

Lander started on the mission, as he undertook everything, with heart and soul. He rode from Washington to Annapolis on horseback, without stopping for darkness, or any other cause save the necessary care of his horse, and reached Annapolis an hour after the troops had landed. Bringing his experience, as a frontiersman, who had seen hard service against hostile Indians on the plains, to bear on the position, Lander gave Colonel Butler such aid and advice as assisted greatly in bringing the soldiers forward with less danger and suffering than might otherwise have arisen during their march to the junction.