the war between the States, when a regiment of Federal soldiers was
marching past her residence in New York, she displayed a Confederate
flag at her window and refused to take it down when ordered to do so.
In October, 1905, a similar story was told by the Philadelphia
correspondent of the Richmond _Times-Dispatch_ that Mrs.
Bulloch, the
grandmother of the President, at some period of the war did the same
thing in that city. The author of this volume was about to insert both
incidents when a moment's reflection caused him to hesitate. He
remembered that both the ladies mentioned were typical Southern women,
of one of the best and most knightly families. The stories lack
_vraisemblance_. Whatever may have been their sympathies during the
war between the States, such a needless display as that indicated in
the stories does not sound like the Bullochs of Georgia.
Southern
women were not given to showing their patriotism by waving flags. It
is rather too cheap. Southern women of the best type, while members of
Northern families or guests of Northern friends, during the war, would
not volunteer to flaunt before the public a family division of
political sentiment under such sad circumstances. In addition to this,
the author has too much regard for the sanctity of home, be it ever so
humble or so highly exalted, to enter its portals for a striking story
without knocking for admission. Under the circumstances he felt it due
to consult our magnanimous President himself as to the authenticity of
either or both incidents. President Roosevelt kindly forwarded the
following reply:
"THE WHITE HOUSE,
WASHINGTON, D. C., _Nov. 20, 1905_.
Personal.
DEAR SIR: It is always a pleasure to hear from an old Confederate
soldier, and I thank you for your letter and for the kind way in
which you speak of me; but that incident about my mother never
took place. This is the first time I ever heard the story about my
grandmother and I am sure it is equally without basis.
My
grandmother was very infirm during the war and I do not believe
she ever lived at Philadelphia. She was with us in New York.
Sincerely yours,
THEODORE ROOSEVELT.
REV. J. L. UNDERWOOD,
_Kellam's Hospital, Richmond, Va._"
Elsewhere in this volume it is shown that John G.
Whittier's famous
story of Barbara Freitchie and the Federal flag is a myth, pure and
simple. This letter of the President consigns the two stories above
mentioned to a similar fate. The Southern people will thank him for
it. They desire nothing but simple truth about their honored President
and his family.
THE LITTLE GIRL AT CHANCELLORSVILLE
General Fitz Hugh Lee loved to tell of the little girl in the house
where Stonewall Jackson breathed his last, who said to her mother that
she "wished that God would let her die instead of the general, for
then only her mother would cry; but if Jackson died all the people of
the country would cry."
SAVED HER HAMS
In Mississippi a farmer's wife heard that a regiment of Federal
cavalry was coming. She had a smoke-house full of fine hams and
shoulder meat. Immediately she went to work, and when the soldiers
came they found the meat lying all about the yard with a knife hole
stuck deep into each piece. The Yankees rushed in and began to pick it
up.
"What's the matter with this meat, madam? How came these holes in
it?"
"Now, look here," said she, "you know the Confederate cavalry has just
been here, and if you all get poisoned by that meat you must not blame
me."
They left the meat.
HEROISM OF A WIDOW
[Mrs. Allie McPeek, in Southern Historical Papers, Volume 23, page
328; from the Atlanta (Ga.) _Constitution_, November 9, 1905.]
It was on the first and second days of September, 1864, General Hardee
of the Southern forces was sent to Jonesboro from Atlanta with 22,000
men to head off a formidable flank movement of the enemy, which had
for its purpose to cut off Southern communication and thereby compel
the evacuation of the city of Atlanta. The flank movement consisted of
40,000 men, and was commanded chiefly by Major-General John M.
Schofield, together with General Sedgwick, who was also a corps
commander, and consisted of the best fighters of the Federal army.
As the two armies confronted each other two miles to the north and
northwest of Jonesboro, it so happened that the little house and farm
of a poor old widow was just between the two lines of battle when the
conflict opened, and, having nowhere to go, she was necessarily caught
between the fire of the two commanding lines of battle, which was at
comparatively close range and doing fierce and deadly work. The house
and home of this old lady was soon converted into a Federal hospital,
and with the varying fortunes she was alternately within the lines of
each contending army, when not between them on disputed ground.
During the whole of this eventful day this good and brave woman,
exposed as she was to the incessant showers of shot and shell from
both sides, moved fearlessly about among the wounded and dying of both
sides alike, and without making the slightest distinction. Finally
night closed the scene with General Schofield's army corps in
possession of the ground, and when the morning dawned it found this
grand old lady still at her post of duty, knowing, too, as she did,
the fortunes, or rather misfortunes, of war had stripped her of the
last vestige of property she had except her little tract of land which
had been laid waste. Now it was that General John M.
Schofield, having
known her suffering and destitute condition, sent her, under escort
and arms, a large wagon-load of provisions and supplies, and caused
his adjutant-general to write her a long and touching letter of
thanks, and wound up the letter with a special request that she keep
it until the war was over and present it to the United States
government, and they would repay all her losses.
She kept the letter, and soon after the Southern Claims Commission was
established she brought it to the writer, who presented her claim in
due form, and she was awarded about $600--all she claimed, but not
being all she lost. The letter is now on file with other proofs of the
exact truth of this statement with the files of the Southern Claims
Commission at Washington. Her name was Allie McPeek, and she died
several years ago.
WINCHESTER WOMEN
[Fremantle's Three Months in Southern Lines.]
Winchester used to be a most agreeable town, and its society extremely
pleasant. Many of its houses are now destroyed or converted into
hospitals, the outlook miserable and dilapidated. Its female
inhabitants (for the able-bodied males are all absent in the army) are
familiar with the bloody realities of war. As many as 5,000 wounded
have been accommodated here at one time. All the ladies are accustomed
to the bursting of shells and the sight of fighting, and all are
turned into hospital nurses or cooks.
SPARTA IN MISSISSIPPI
[Gen. J. B. Gordon.]
The heroines of Sparta who gave their hair for bow-strings have been
immortalized by the muse of history; but what tongue can speak or
pen indite a tribute worthy of the Mississippi woman who with her
own hands applied the torch to more than half a million dollars'
worth of cotton, reducing herself to poverty rather than have that
cotton employed against her people. The day will come, and I
believe it is rapidly approaching, when in all will be seen
evidences of appreciation of these inspiring incidents; when all
lips will unite in expressing gratitude to God that they belong to
such a race of men and women.
"WOMAN'S DEVOTION"--A WINCHESTER HEROINE
[Gen. D. H. Maury, in Southern Historical Papers.]
The history of Winchester is replete with romantic and glorious
memories of the late war. One of the most interesting of these has
been perpetuated by the glowing pencil of Oregon Wilson, himself a
native of this valley, and the fine picture he has made of the
incident portrayed by him has drawn tears from many who loved their
Southern country and the devoted women who elated and sanctified by
their heroic sacrifices the cause which, borne down for a time, now
rises again to honor all who sustained it.
That truth, which is stranger than fiction, is stronger, too. The
simple historic facts which gave Wilson the theme of his great picture
gains nothing from the romantic glamour his beautiful art has thrown
about the actors in the story.
In 1864, General Ramseur, commanding a Confederate force near
Winchester, was suddenly attacked by a Federal force under General
Averell, and after a sharp encounter was forced back through the town.
The battlefield was near the residence of Mr.
Rutherford, about two
miles distant, and the wounded were gathered in his house and yard.
The Confederate surgeons left in charge of these wounded men appealed
to the women of Winchester (the men had all gone off to the war) to
come out and aid in dressing the wounds and nursing the wounded. As
was always the way of these Winchester women, they promptly responded
to this appeal, and on the ---- day of July more than twenty ladies
went out to Mr. Rutherford's to minister to their suffering
countrymen. There were more than sixty severely wounded men who had
been collected from the battlefield and were lying in the house and
garden of Mr. Rutherford. The weather was warm, and those out of doors
were as comfortable and as quiet as those within.
Amongst them was a
beardless boy named Randolph Ridgely; he was severely hurt; his thigh
was broken by a bullet, and his sufferings were very great; his
nervous system was shocked and unstrung, and he could find no rest.
The kind surgeon in charge of him had many others to care for; he felt
that quiet sleep was all important for his young patient, and he
placed him under charge of a young girl who had accompanied these
ladies from Winchester; told her his life depended on his having quiet
sleep that night; showed her how best to support his head, and
promised to return and see after his condition as soon and as often as
his duties to the other wounded would permit.
All through that anxious night the brave girl sat, sustaining the head
of the wounded youth and carefully guarding him against everything
that could disturb his rest or break the slumber into which he gently
sank, and which was to save his life. She only knew and felt that a
brave Confederate life depended on her care. She had never seen him
before, nor has she ever seen him since. And when at dawn the surgeon
came to her, he found her still watching and faithful, just as he had
left her at dark--as only a true woman, as we love to believe our
Virginia women, can be. The soldier had slept soundly.
He awoke only
once during the night, when tired nature forced his nurse to change
her posture; and when after the morning came she was relieved of her
charge, and she fell ill of the exhaustion and exposure of that night.
Her consolation during the weary weeks she lay suffering was that she
had saved a brave soldier for her country.
In the succeeding year, Captain Hancock, of the Louisiana Infantry,
was brought to Winchester, wounded and a prisoner. He lay many weeks
in the hospital, and when nearly recovered of his wounds, was notified
that he would be sent to Fort Delaware. As the time drew near for his
consignment to this hopeless prison, he confided to Miss Lenie
Russell, the same young girl who had saved young Ridgely's life, that
he was engaged to be married to a lady of lower Virginia, and was
resolved to attempt to make his escape. She cordially entered into his
plans, and aided in their successful accomplishment. The citizens of
Winchester were permitted sometimes to send articles of food and
comfort to the sick and wounded Confederates, and Miss Russell availed
herself of this to procure the escape of the gallant captain. She
caused him to don the badge of a hospital attendant, take a market
basket on his arm and accompany her to a house, whence he might, with
least danger of detection and arrest, effect his return to his own
lines. Captain Hancock made good use of his opportunity and safely
rejoined his comrades; survived the war; married his sweetheart, and
to this day omits no occasion for showing his respect and gratitude
for the generous woman to whose courage and address he owes his
freedom and his happiness.
SPOKEN LIKE CORNELIA
[From The Gray Jacket, page 529.]
A young lady of Louisiana, whose father's plantation had been brought
within the enemy's lines in their operations against Vicksburg, was
frequently constrained by the necessities of her situation to hold
conversation with the Federal officers. On one of these occasions, a
Yankee official inquired how she managed to preserve her equanimity
and cheerfulness and so many trials and privations, and such severe
reverses of fortune. "Our army," said he, "has deprived your father of
two hundred negroes, and literally desolated two magnificent
plantations."
She said to the officer--a leader of that army, which had, for months,
hovered around Vicksburg, powerless to take it with all their vast
appliances of war, and mortified by their repeated failures: "I am
not insensible to the comforts and elegances which fortune can secure,
and of which your barbarian hordes have deprived me; but a true
Southern woman will not weep over them, while her country remains. If
you wish to crush me, take Vicksburg."
A SPECIMEN MOTHER
[Mrs. Fannie A. Beers' Memories, pages 208-209.]
At the commencement of the war there lived in Sharon, Miss., Mr. and
Mrs. O'Leary, surrounded by a family of five stalwart sons. Mrs.
Catherine O'Leary was a fond and loving mother, but also an
unfaltering patriot, and her heart was fired with love for the cause
of Southern liberty. Therefore when her brave sons, one after another,
went forth to battle for the right, she bade them God-speed. "Be true
to your God and your country," said this noble woman,
"and never
disgrace your mother by flinching from duty."
Her youngest and, perhaps, dearest, was at that time only 14. For a
while she felt that his place was by her side; but in 1863, when he
was barely 17, she no longer tried to restrain him. Her trembling
hands, having arrayed the last beloved boy for the sacrifice, rested
in blessings on his head ere he went forth. Repressing the agony which
swelled her heart, she calmly bade him, also, "Do your duty. If you
must die, let it be with your face to the foe." And so went forth
James A. O'Leary, at the tender age of 17, full of ardor and hope. He
was at once assigned to courier duty under General Loring. On the 28th
of July, 1864, at the battle of Atlanta, he was shot through the hip,
the bullet remaining in the wound, causing intense suffering, until
1870, when it was extracted, and the wound healed for the first time.
Notwithstanding this wound, he insisted upon returning to his command,
which, in the mean time, had joined Wood's regiment of cavalry. This
was in 1865, and, so wounded, he served three months, surrendering
with General Wirt Adams at Gainesville. A short but very glorious
record. Mrs. O'Leary still lives in Sharon. The old fire is
unquenched.
MRS. ROONEY
[Mrs. Fannie A. Beers' Memories, pages 217-220.]
There is one bright, shining record of a patriotic and tireless woman
which remains undimmed when placed beside that of the most devoted
Confederate women. I refer to Mrs. Rose Rooney, of Company K,
Fifteenth Louisiana Regiment, who left New Orleans in June, 1861, and
never deserted the "b'ys" for a day until the surrender.
She was no hanger-on about camp, but in everything but actual fighting
was as useful as any of the boys she loved with all her big, warm,
Irish heart, and served with the undaunted bravery which led her to
risk the dangers of every battlefield where the regiment was engaged,
unheeding havoc made by the solid shot, so that she might give timely
succor to the wounded or comfort the dying. When in camp she looked
after the comfort of the regiment, both sick and well, and many a one
escaped being sent to the hospital because Rose attended to him so
well. She managed to keep on hand a stock of real coffee, paying at
times $35 per pound for it. The surrender almost broke her heart. Her
defiant ways caused her to be taken prisoner. I will give in her own
words an account of what followed:
"Sure, the Yankees took me prisoner along with the rest.
The next day,
when they were changing the camps to fix up for the wounded, I asked
them what they would do with me. They tould me to 'go to the devil.' I
tould them, 'I've been long in his company; I'd choose something
better.' I then asked them where any Confederates lived.
They tould me
about three miles through the woods. On my way I met some Yankees.
They asked me, 'What have you in that bag?' I said,
'Some rags of my
own.' I had a lot of rags on the top, but six new dresses at the
bottom; and sure, I got off with them all. Then they asked me if I had
any money. I said no; but in my stocking I had two hundred dollars in
Confederate money. One of the Yankees, a poor devil of a private
soldier, handed me three twenty-five cents of Yankee money. I said to
him, 'Sure, you must be an Irishman.' 'Yes,' said he. I then went on
till I got to the house. Mrs. Crump and her sister were in the yard,
and about twenty negro women--no men. I had not a bite for two days,
nor any water, so I began to cry from weakness. Mrs.
Crump said,
'Don't cry; you are among friends.' She then gave me plenty to
eat,--hot hoecakes and buttermilk. I stayed there fifteen days,
superintending the cooking for the sick and wounded men.
One half of
the house was full of Confederates and the other of Yankees. They then
brought us to Burkesville, where all the Yankees were gathered
together. There was an ould doctor there, and he began to curse me,
and to talk about all we had done to their prisoners. I tould him,
'And what have you to say to what you done to our poor fellows?' He
tould me to shut up, and sure I did. They asked me fifty questions
after, and I never opened me mouth. The next day was the day when all
the Confederate flags came to Petersburg. I had some papers in my
pocket that would have done harrum to some people, so I chewed them
all up and ate them; but I wouldn't take the oath, and I never did
take it. The flags were brought in on dirt-carts and as they passed
the Federal camps them Yankees would unfurl them and shake them about
to show them. My journey from Burkesville to Petersburg was from 11 in
the morning till 11 at night, and I sitting on my bundle all the way.
The Yankee soldiers in the car were cursing me, and calling me a damn
rebel, and more ugly talk. I said, 'Mabbe some of you has got a mother
or wife; if so, you'll show some respect for me.' Then they were
quiet. I had to walk three miles to Captain Buckner's headquarters.
The family were in the house near the battle-ground, but the door was
shut, and I didn't know who was inside, and I couldn't see any light.
I sat down on the porch, and thought I would have to stay there all
night. After a while I saw a light coming from under the door, and so
I knocked; when the door was opened and they saw who it was, they were
all delighted to see me because they were afraid I was dead. I wanted
to go to Richmond, but would not go on a Yankee transportation. When
the brigade came down, I cried me heart out because I was not let go
on with them. I stayed three months with Mrs. Cloyd, and then Major
Rawle sent me forty dollars and fifty more if I needed it, and that
brought me home to New Orleans."
Mrs. Rooney is still cared for and cherished by the veterans of
Louisiana. At the Soldiers' Home she holds the position of matron, and
her little room is a shrine never neglected by visitors to "Camp
Nichols."
WARNING BY A BRAVE GIRL
[Our Women in the War, pages 63-64.]
I know of a girl who rode through the storm of a winter's night, many
miles, to give information to our soldiers when Sherman was on his way
to Atlanta. The country far and wide was filled with soldiers, and
skirmishing was of constant occurrence. By her efforts many lives were
saved, and as she returned homeward the shot and shell were falling
thick and fast around her. Later, a desperate encounter took place in
her father's yard between contending armies, and her courage was
wonderful in assisting the wounded and baffling inquiries from the
Yankee officers, who made headquarters in her home. She still managed
to give important information, and defied detection.
This girl is of
an ancient family, and soldier blood is in her veins.
Her grandfather
was a general in the United States army before her mother was grown.
A PLUCKY GIRL WITH A PISTOL
[Our Women in the War, pages 37-39.]
Charleston was under an iron heel, the heel of despair.
Every house
had its shutters closed and darkened; all the rooms overlooking the
streets were abandoned; the women endeavored to give a deserted and
dreary aspect to every mansion, and lived as retiringly as possible in
the back portions of their dwellings, hoping that the Northern
soldiery in the city would suppose such houses to be deserted and
therefore would not search them.
But this did not save Mr. Cunningham's house. By a strange coincidence
it was again a company of black Michigan troops, with a negro in
command, that burst open the locked gate, tore up the flower garden,
and finally streamed up the back piazza steps, armed with muskets and
glittering bayonets that shone in the noonday sun, their faces blacker
than ink, their eyes red with drink and malice. The three girls saw
them from the dining-room and shivered, but not one moment was lost.
Cecil pushed the other two into the room, saying, "Stay here, I will
go close this door and meet them," and advancing quickly she reached