The Romance of Modern Sieges

Porter proceeded with the conference as if nothing were the matter. Soon another officer came down, reporting that the battery, on fire from stem to stern, was drifting down upon them.

Turning to the Confederate officers, Porter asked: “Has she powder and loaded guns on board, gentlemen?”

“We presume so, but we know nothing of naval matters here.”

Just at this moment the hot guns began to go off and throw shot and shell at random amongst friends and foes.

Commander Porter, with severe coolness of manner, only said: “Then we will go on with our business, gentlemen. If you don’t mind the effect of the explosion which is soon to come, we can stand it.”

Fortunately, the Louisiana drifted across towards St. Philip, and exploded her magazine when just abreast of it. The sound of the explosion was heard for miles up and down the river. When the smoke cleared away the battery had gone into fragments and sunk in the Mississippi. If it had drifted upon the Harriet Lane, as had been intended, and blown into smithereens the consulting officers of both North and South, that would have been a consequence of treachery almost worse than the insults of the New Orleans ladies or the indiscreet edict of General Butler.

Fort Jackson had crumbled into powder under the impact of the huge shells from the mortars. On the first night of the bombardment the magazine was in such danger that only wet blankets saved it from blowing up. One bomb came leaping into the officers’ mess-room when they were dining. With a thud and a rumble it rolled under the very table. All rose and clustered in a corner in some consternation, expecting to go skywards with the crockery. They waited one minute, two minutes. Not yet had death come! Then a young officer crawled under the table and burst into a hearty laugh.

“What is it, Jimmy?”

“Oh, you can go on with that Irish stew now. The fuse is out.”

They returned to their dinners with such appetite as they could. Fortunately, men who are living at high pressure and strain, meeting death at every turn, are easily moved to see the funny side of things.

CHAPTER XVI

THE SIEGE OF RICHMOND (1862 AND 1865)

Fair Oaks a drawn battle – Robert Lee succeeds Johnston – Reforms in the army – Humours of the sentinels – Chaffing the niggers – Their idea of liberty – The pickets chum together – Stuart’s raid – A duel between a Texan and a German – Effect of music on soldiers – A terrible retreat to James River – Malvern Hill battle-scenes – Three years after – General Grant before Richmond – Coloured troops enter the Southern capital in triumph – Lee surrenders – Friends once more.

The battle of Fair Oaks had been fought, and General McClellan began to entrench himself in view of the siege of Richmond. It had been a drawn battle: the South had taken some guns, but the Federal forces were too strong for them, and swamps, rough ground, and woods all helped to throw the South into confusion. Upon a field hardly a mile square were lying some 7,000 or 8,000 dead and wounded, many of them having been there for twenty-four hours. Some had gone deep into the muddy swamps and stuck fast there, dying or laying the foundation of some terrible disease. Acres of forest had been slashed, or cut about 5 feet from the ground, to prevent the passage of troops and artillery.

The Southern Commander-in-Chief, General Johnston, had been killed by a shell in this battle, but the substitution of General Robert E. Lee as Commander led to great reforms in the Confederate Army. Lee at once removed the camps from malarious swamps; he provided supplies of wholesome provisions, and reclothed the hungry, starving and mutinous men, so that in a few weeks they looked stronger, fought better, and behaved as men under discipline.

Every evening the countersign was given out, and sentinels were posted to prevent spies crossing the Chickahominy. In the Federal Army were men of many nations – Scotch, Irish, German, Norsemen, and others. It was told of an Irish sentinel that he stopped a stranger.

“Halt! Who comes there?”

“Me – a friend of the chaplain.”

“Have ye the countersign?”

“No.”

“Faith! an’ if ye were a friend of the divil and had no counthersign ye couldn’t pass this way – not on no account, sor.”

“But I tell you I am a friend of your chaplain, and I forgot to ask him for the countersign. Don’t you see?”

“Is that it, sor? Then, be jabers! what’s to prevint me giving to ye the counthersign, eh?”

“Nothing, I suppose, if you will be so kind.”

“Come closer, and, be jabers! I’ll just whisper it in your ear. There! Now stand and answer. Who comes here?”

“A friend.”

“A friend! Right! and maybe ye have the counthersign?”

“I have; it is ‘Good-night, mother.’”

“Quite correct, sor. Pass on, and good luck to ye!”

A long siege is such dull work that the Northerners used to amuse themselves by chaffing the young negroes when they caught them in the lines. Perhaps they would give the nigger-boy a bit of food, then suddenly say:

“Sambo, what relation are you to Jeff Davis’s coachman?”

The black eyes would roll and the whites enlarge as the grinning nigger replied:

“I ain’t no sort o’ connexion with that ere, sah.”

“You’re a Secesh, I reckon.”

“No, sah; I’m Union boy.”

“Oh, then we shall have to flog you, Sambo. Don’t you know that in this part of McClellan’s army we are all at heart good rebels?”

“Lord ha’ mercy! I never thought o’ that; and now I do think on it, I do agree dat I am a bit of a rebel, anyhow.”

Then all the listeners would burst out laughing at poor Sambo, and he left the camp befogged and bewildered.

Once an old grey-headed negro came into camp, and some young officers began to tackle him.

“Think we can take Richmond, boy?”

“Dar be right smart o’ men round here, but I dunno ’bout dar being able for to take Richmond, sah.”

“‘Right smart o’ men!’” said a Captain. “Why, this is only a flea-bite to what’s coming to eat up the rebel army. You’ll see them coming up like locusts. Here’s McClellan with half a million around here, and there’s Burnside down there, coming from Carolina with a hundred thousand more, and General Banks with two hundred thousand more, and General Fremont – why, he can’t count his men he has so many!”

The old fellow opened his eyes wider and wider as the list of imaginary armies was run over. Then, gazing up intently in the officer’s face:

“Got all dem men?” he asked in a subdued voice.

“Yes, and more.”

The negro threw out his arms and ejaculated:

“Oh! dear Mesopotamia! Whatever will become of massa, I wonder?”

The negroes wanted to be free, but they did not want to work. Many of them who had run away from their masters were employed by the Federals in unloading stores. They worked from daylight until dark, singing over it, talking, shouting, arguing, making such a shindy. A Virginian negro never did a quarter of a day’s work on his master’s plantations, and they soon found out the difference when they became free niggers and earned wages. They did not much relish their rise. A party of niggers would come up to the Colonel’s tent.

“Well, boys, what made you leave your master? Wasn’t he kind to you?”

“Oh yes, massa berry kind – berry kind indeed.”

“Well, didn’t he give you enough to eat?”

“Oh yes, plenty of dat, plenty of dat – ’nuff to eat.”

“Well, boys, what made you leave him?”

“Why, de trufe am dat he made us work ’mong sugar-canes,” said one.

“And we heerd ’bout de Norf am such a nice place, so we tort dat we would go to um,” said another.

“Nice place? Why, how do you mean a nice place?”

“Well, sah, we was told dat nobody did no work up dar.”

Even the white peasants in Virginia seemed to be lazy and indolent. They lived in little cabins, and only the very young or old were left, as every able-bodied man was in the army. They were dressed in homespun and spoke with a drawl. They did not wish to be richer, content with one acre and a single cow – Tories of a most old-fashioned kind; and the women, like the Boers, were far more dangerous rebels than the men, and tried to entrap unwary Federals when they got them drinking in their houses.

All round by the river four miles from Richmond was a succession of dark swamp, yellow field, and brown hill-side. Batteries were placed on all the ridges, guarded on either side by woods and in front by earthworks. The Confederates on the other side of the river had fewer trees but stronger earthworks. On the 1st of June there was an artillery duel, begun by the Richmond batteries, but they had to beat a retreat into the woods before the precision of some German gunners. Sometimes the pickets of both armies were so close to each other that they made an agreement not to fire at one another. Then they got to exchanging newspapers and tobacco, telling the news, and altogether behaving as if they were rational human beings, and not machines sent to kill one another for political ideals far beyond their ken. Once when a New Jersey regiment was upon picket Federal scouts were being served with their allowance of coffee, and one of these latter observing a Southerner gazing wistfully at his smoking cup, beckoned to him to come over and have a drink. He came, drank, smacked his lips, and walked slowly back. Then he looked round and said:

“I say, friend, how many times a month do you fellows get this good coffee?”

“Oh, just three times a day,” said the Jersey man.

“Three times a day! Why, if that’s true I’ll not stay a day longer in the Confederate Army. Here, lad, I give myself up.” And the fellow actually let his friend take him prisoner.

On the 20th of June General McClellan reported that he had 156,839 men, but he could get no reinforcements, and the armies of the South were increasing. The rains were making quagmires all around, and disease was rife among the troops. About this time the Confederate General Stuart led a successful raid with 1,200 horse and two pieces of artillery round the rear of the Federals, driving in their cavalry pickets till he came to Garlick’s Landing, where he destroyed two schooners and many waggons and captured many prisoners. One Federal – a German Dragoon – scorned to fly with his comrades, and fought a duel with a Texan trooper. The German was a veteran in the wars of Europe, and attacked the Texan, who was a little in advance of his troop. Both were skilled swordsmen, and while they fought the rest pulled rein and looked on. The German sat his horse as if he were a part of the animal and wielded his sword with parry, cut, and thrust like lightning flash. The Texan, on his fleet barb, wheeled swiftly round and round, seeking in vain for an opening. At last the Texan slashed the German’s shoulder, and as blood spirted from the wound the Texans, looking on, raised a cheer. But as quick as thought, with a back-stroke the German cut through the sleeve and flesh of the Texan’s left arm, and his blood began to flow. Then the Texan backed his horse and spurred again upon his opponent, making a lunge at his breast. This the Dragoon parried with great dexterity, and brought down his sharp blade upon the other’s shoulder. Thereat the Texan wheeled his horse once more, drew a pistol and shot the Dragoon through the heart.

Colonel Estran, a Prussian officer in the service of the South, who witnessed this scene, but disapproved of the Texan having recourse to his pistol, writes thus: “Much moved by his fate, I ordered a grave to receive the remains of the brave German trooper. We buried him in his regimentals, with his trusty sword on his breast and his pistols by his side. I then sent for the Texan, and, after reprimanding him severely for his cowardly conduct, I ordered him to seek service in some other corps, telling him that I could not think of allowing a fellow of his stamp to remain in my regiment. The Texan scowled at me with his cat-like eyes, and, muttering a curse, mounted his horse and rode away.”

I think some of us may deem that the Texan was hardly treated by this Prussian officer who felt so indignant at the shooting of the German trooper. The Texan had received two severe wounds. He was not bound to fight only with the sword. He carried pistols; so did the German. Why? if they were not to be used, why carry them? It was the Texan’s duty to kill the German, and he did so. No wonder the poor fellow muttered a curse.

Days of disaster were coming for the Northern Army. They were spread along the river and through the swamps for more than twenty miles. The South could sally out of Richmond and strike any one point before support could be sent up. Part of the army was north of the river, part south. They dared not march on Richmond, now so strongly fortified, and to retreat was fatal. General Jackson had joined General Lee, and every day there was fierce fighting. In the battle of Gaine’s Mill, where the North lost twenty-two guns, the Federal General Butterfield at a critical moment came coolly down the knoll in the thick of a hot fire, and sword in hand, seized the colours, waved them aloft, and so encouraged the valour of his regiment, shouting:

“Your ammunition is never exhausted while you have your bayonets; and use them to the socket, my boys!”

Seventy thousand men were hurling grape, canister, and bullet against 30,000. It was one loud and continuous roar. It was only gradually that it was forced upon the Federal troops that they were beaten and were in full retreat to the James River.

Battles are like games of chess. The great thing is to bring as many pieces into play as you can and mass them on one or two points. The Federals had over 100,000 fighting men, but only 30,000 were engaged in the battle of Gaine’s Mill.

On the 28th McClellan wrote to the Secretary for War: “I have lost the battle because my force was too small. If I save this army now I tell you plainly that I owe no thanks to you or to any other person in Washington. You have done your best to sacrifice this army.”

The Federal rearguard did their best to cover the retreat. They blew up the ammunition which had to be deserted, emptied the barrels of whisky and molasses, bent the muskets, and dismantled the forsaken waggons. But the roads were thronged with the sick and wounded, and hundreds lay down to die in the awful sun.

Ever the victorious South were riding in upon them and making havoc. On one of these charges General Butterfield, seeing the utter misery and downheartedness of the men, gathered together all the regimental bands and placed them at the head of a brigade. In one great burst of sound, which rose above the clamour of the battle, they started “The Star-spangled Banner.” With the first few notes the men’s spirits rose and a new energy came to them. They stepped out and sang lustily, and other regiments caught the brave infection and cheered in chorus.

Such are the uses of music in war. In our own regiments in the Boer War, when the men got weary with the long march, a Colonel would shout to his sergeants: “Have you any men who can sing? Put them in front.” Then the regiment would step out and forget their weariness.

The Richmond Dispatch describes the battle-field thus: “Money was found abundantly among the slain. One man found not less than 150 dollars in gold. One lucky finder had no less than six chronometers ticking in his pocket at the same time. Our men seemed to take great delight in assuming Federal officers’ uniforms, and strutted about serio-comically, much to the amusement of powder-begrimed youths who sat lolling and smoking in the shade. The cannon and arms captured in this battle were numerous and of very superior workmanship. The twenty-six pieces were the most beautiful we have ever seen, while immense piles of guns could be seen on every hand, many even hardly tarnished.”

The road to James River was strewn with stragglers, tired to death. Hospitals were filled to overflowing. When they came to White Oak Swamp Bridge there was a block of waggons, cannon, ambulances, etc. Twenty rows of waggons stood side by side; teamsters swore, and horses gibbed, and officers shouted.

A Confederate officer, writing of the battle of Malvern Hill, describes how the gunboats on the James River helped the Federal retreat, how shot from rifled guns came hurtling through the woods, tearing down the largest trees. “We passed over four lines of our own men who lay close to the ground and dare not rise to face the grape and canister. Our men trampled them into the mud like logs. One man in his haste to get out of danger shoved me on one side, and just at that instant a canister-shot tore his head off. As you may suppose, I was not much vexed at his want of politeness. Early next morning I rode over the battle-ground. I came upon numbers of dead and dying horses – and the wounded! One, a fair-haired Yankee boy of sixteen, was lying with both legs broken, half of his body submerged in water, his teeth clenched, his finger-nails buried in the flesh, his whole body quivering with agony and benumbed with cold. In this case my pity got the better of my resentment, and I dismounted, pulled him out of the water and wrapped him in my blanket, for which he seemed very grateful. One of the most touching things I saw was a couple of brothers, both wounded, who had crawled together, and one of them, in the act of arranging a pillow for the other with a blanket, had fallen. They had died with their arms around one another, and their cheeks together. But your heart will sicken at these details, as mine did at seeing them, and I will cease.”

The word “resentment” in this letter reveals the bitter feeling that springs up when men of the same nation are at war. The battle of Malvern Hill was the fiercest of the seven days’ battles, and the loss on both sides was terrible. When the troops came in sight of James River, muddy current and low banks, they rushed down with mad impetuosity. Many plunged into the stream in a very frenzy of delight. Those who for hours had suffered agonies from thirst now stood knee-deep in the water and drank like fish. The horses were as delighted as the men, and neighed to their friends. Here the troops rested and enjoyed the supplies sent up from White House. But a storm came on the 2nd of July and changed all to mud and sticky surfaces; but the sound gave up their tents to the wounded, and soon many steamers took the poor victims of the fight to a more comfortable abode.

McClellan had lost 15,000 men in the awful struggle of the last seven days, but the South had suffered more heavily, and Richmond was crowded with the wounded and dying. The President thanked the General in a letter, saying: “I am satisfied that yourself, officers, and men have done the best you could.”

It was not until three years after this – in April, 1865 – that Richmond was evacuated by General Lee before Generals Grant and Sheridan. President Davis was in church when an orderly, splashed with mud, walked up the aisle and handed him a paper. In the first glance he saw that all was over, and a few hours after he was in full flight. On Monday morning Weitzel with his army, composed partly of coloured troops, marched into Richmond with bands playing. The city had been fired and the stores plundered. Main Street was in ruins, and the bridges over the river were broken. A thousand prisoners were taken and 500 pieces of artillery.

It is said that the coloured troops entered Richmond with proud gait and shouts of ecstasy, welcomed enthusiastically by their dusky brethren who thronged the streets. They laughed and shouted, prayed and wept, and kissed one another in a delirium of happiness. They thought that now at last the white races would acknowledge their equality; but the world has not yet got rid of its old prejudices, and their sun of happiness was doomed to suffer an eclipse. In a few days Lee surrendered. The Federals first heard the news from the cheers of the poor famished army of the South. Twenty-two thousand – all that was left of them – stacked their arms and filed past in a great and solemn silence. The cruel, devastating war was over. Now was seen the strange spectacle of the enemy sharing their rations with a conquered foe. They were no longer North and South now: they were all Americans – citizens once more of the United States, destined, perhaps, in a not distant future to teach Europe that peace is better than war, love is stronger than hate, God’s kingdom supreme over the transient empires of this little world.

CHAPTER XVII

THE SIEGE OF PARIS (1870-1871)WITH THE GERMANS OUTSIDE

The Germans invest Paris – Trochu’s sortie fails – The English ambulance welcomed – A Prince’s visit to the wounded – In the snow – Madame Simon – A brave Lieutenant – Piano and jam – The big guns begin – St. Denis – Old Jacob writes to the Crown Prince – A dramatic telegram – Spy fever – Journalists mobbed.

After the French Emperor was defeated and taken prisoner at Sedan a revolution broke out in Paris, and the terms of peace which had been agreed upon were refused by the Parisians. So the Germans marched on Paris, arriving on the 18th of September. By the end of October 240,000 men began to encircle the ring of fifteen outer forts which guarded Paris.

Trochu was the Governor of Paris. On the 30th of September he made a vigorous sortie across the Marne, to the south-east, where he hoped to join the French army of the Loire, and also at the same time to relieve Paris of some hungry mouths.

But the grip of the Germans was too strong. They had been allowed time to strengthen their positions, and the sortie failed, though the great guns of the forts had boomed and crashed until they were glowing hot.

An English ambulance under Mr. Young and Captain Furley was received by the German doctor with great enthusiasm, for medical comforts were growing scarce in the field hospital.

The stores were carried into the doctor’s own room, and as the box of sundries was unpacked it was splendid to see the delight of the good man.

“Porter,” he cried – “ganz gut! Ale – ganz gut! Chloroform – ach Gott! Twelve hundred cigars – du lieber Gott!” and his hands and eyes went up in delight and gratitude.

The woollen clothing alone must have saved many lives. After supper that evening the German doctor got up and made a little speech.

“Gentlemen, some people go about and make large promises which are never fulfilled. What an example of the contrary we have now before us! Mr. Young and Captain Furley heard of our state; they let no red tape stand in their way, and now this afternoon there comes jogging up our avenue a waggon bringing what is health – nay, what is life – to our poor sick and wounded. Here is the Englander all over, gentlemen – the bulldog that has no wind to spare in superfluous barking.”

The officers present raised their glasses and shouted “Hochs!” for the English ambulance. It is pleasant to hear of such comradeship between men of different nations.

The next day we are told that, after desperate fighting, the Head-quarters Staff of the German 12th Army Corps sat down to a very sombre dinner-table and spoke to one another in hushed voices, for many chairs were empty this dinner-time that had been occupied at breakfast. Not a man in the room but had lost dear friends, and many had lost kinsmen, and some had brothers lying out on the snow. On the forenoon of the fourth day there were found eight poor wretches who had survived the inclemency of two nights’ hard frost. Frostbitten, they lived two days after they were found.

The Germans, after two days’ hard fighting, drove the French back into Paris, with the loss of 6,000 men; but they themselves were very disheartened.

Their loss in officers was very large. The 108th Regiment lost thirty-six officers out of forty-five. In the knapsacks of the French soldiers were found provisions for six days, showing that they had hoped to co-operate with the Southern Army of the Loire.

One day the Prince of Saxe-Weimar went to visit the wounded Würtembergers, a big man and a kindly heart. He went round with a box of cigars under his arm, asking each patient, “Can you smoke?” It was pitiful to see how they all tried to smoke, though some were too weak to enjoy their weed. Now the Prince comes upon a stalwart under officer.

“Are you married?”

“No, Highness; but my mother – she has three sons down, all wounded, and it might be bad for her.”

The Prince took out a gold piece.