The Bay State Monthly, Volume 3, No. 4

WAR DEPARTMENT.ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE, December 27, 1880.

MAJOR ANDERSON, Fort Moultrie:—

Intelligence has reached here this morning that you have abandoned Fort Moultrie, spiked your guns, burned the carriages, and gone to Fort Sumter. It is not believed, because there is no order for any such movement. Explain the meaning of this report.

J.B. FLOYD,

Secretary of War.

The answer was as follows:—

CHARLESTON, December 27, 1860.

HON. J.B. FLOYD, Secretary of War:—

The telegram is correct. I abandoned Fort Moultrie because I was certain that, if attacked, my men must have been sacrificed, and the command of the harbor lost. I spiked the guns, and destroyed the carriages, to keep the guns from being used against us.

If attacked, the garrison would never have surrendered without a fight.

ROBERT ANDERSON,Major First Artillery.

The event reached the President's ears; he was perplexed, and postponed the promised interview with the Commissioners one day. He met them on the 28th. He states, in his Defence, published in 1866, that he informed them at once that he "could recognize them only as private gentlemen, and not as commissioners from a sovereign State; that it was to Congress, and to Congress alone, they must appeal." Nevertheless, he expressed his willingness to communicate to that body, as the only competent tribunal, any proposition they might have to offer; as if he did not realize that this proposal was a quasi-recognition of South Carolina's claim to independence, and a misdemeanor meriting impeachment.

The Commissioners, strange to say, were either too stupid or too timid to perceive the advantage of this concession. Fortunately for the country, their indifference lost to Rebellion its only possible chance of peaceful success.

The Commissioners evidently believed that the President was within the control of the cabinet cabal, for they made an angry complaint against Anderson, and imperiously demanded "explanations." For two days the President wavered. An outside complication tended to open his eyes. On the 31st of December Floyd resigned the portfolio of war; and, on the same day, the President sent to the Commissioners a definite answer that, "whatever might have been his first inclination, the Governor of South Carolina had, since Anderson's movement, forcibly seized Fort Moultrie, Castle Pinckney, and the Charleston arsenal, custom-house, and post-office, and covered them with the palmetto flag; that under such circumstances he could not, and would not, withdraw the Federal troops from Sumter." The angry Commissioners returned home, leaving behind them an insolent rejoinder, charging the President "with tacit consent to the scheme of peaceable secession!"

IV

The crisis of December 31st changed the attitude of the Government toward Rebellion. Joseph Holt, of Kentucky, was appointed Secretary of War. General Scott was placed in military control.

An effort was at once made to reinforce Sumter. On the 5th of January notice was sent by Assistant Adjutant-General Thomas, from New York, to Major Anderson that a swift steamship, "Star of the West," loaded with two hundred and fifty recruits and all needed supplies, had sailed, that same day, for his relief. Major Anderson failed to receive the notice. On the morning of the 9th the steamer steamed up the channel in the direction of Sumter, when presently she was fired upon vigorously by the secessionists. Her captain ran up the stars and stripes, but quickly lost heart as he caught sight of the ready guns of Fort Moultrie, then put about, and back to sea.

The commander at Sumter was enraged. He sat down and wrote a brief note to the Governor of South Carolina, demanding to know "if the firing on the vessel and the flag had been by his orders, and declaring, unless the act were disclaimed, he would close the harbor with the guns of Sumter." The Governor's reply was both an avowal and a justification of the act. Anderson, in a second note, stated that he would ask his government for instructions, and requested "safe conduct for a bearer of despatches." The Governor, in reply, sent a formal demand for the surrender of the fort. Anderson responded to this, that he could not comply; but that, if the government saw fit "to refer this matter to Washington," he would depute an officer to accompany the messenger.

This meant a truce, which the conspirators heartily welcomed. On the 12th of January, therefore, Attorney-General I.W. Hayne, of South Carolina, proceeded to Washington as an envoy to carry to President Buchanan the Governor's demand for the surrender of Fort Sumter. The matter was prolonged; but, on the 6th of February, Mr. Hayne found that his mission was a failure.

On the 4th of February, while the Peace Conference, so called, met in Washington to consider propositions of compromise and concession, the delegates of the seceding States assembled in Montgomery, Alabama, to organize their conspiracy into an avowed and opened rebellion. On the 9th Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, was elected President, and Alexander H. Stephens, of Georgia, Vice-President of the new Confederacy. On the 18th Davis was inaugurated.

On the 1st of March General Beauregard was, by the rebel government, placed in command of the defence of Charleston harbor, with orders to complete preparations for the capture of Fort Sumter. The Governor had been exceedingly anxious that the capture should be attempted before the 4th of March. "Mr. Buchanan cannot resist," he wrote to Davis, "because he has not the power. Mr. Lincoln may not attack, because the cause of quarrel will have been, or may be considered by him, as past."

President Lincoln was inaugurated on the 4th of March, 1861. With an unanswerable argument against disunion, and an earnest appeal to reason and lawful remedy, he closed his inaugural address with the following impressive declaration of peace and good-will:—

In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war.

The government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors; you can have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the government, while I shall have the most solemn one,—to preserve, protect, and defend it.

I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break, our bond of affection.

The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone all over this broad land, will yet swell the Chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

On the 15th of March President Lincoln, having been advised by General Scott that it was now "practically impossible to relieve or reinforce Sumter," propounded the following question to his cabinet: "Assuming it to be possible to provision Sumter, is it wise, under all the circumstances of the case, to attempt to do so?" Five of the seven members of the cabinet argued against the policy of relief. On the 29th the matter came up again, and four of the seven then favored an attempt to relieve Major Anderson. The President at once ordered the preparation of an expedition. Three ships of war, with a transport and three swift steam tugs, a supply of open boats, provisions far six months, and two hundred recruits, were fitted out at New York, and, with all possible secrecy, sailed on the 9th and 10th of April, "under sealed orders to rendezvous before Charleston harbor at daylight on the morning of the 11th."

Meanwhile preparations for the capture of Sumter had been steadily going on under the direction of General Beauregard, one of the most skilful of engineers. On the 1st of April he telegraphed to Montgomery, the capital of the new confederacy:—

Batteries ready to open Wednesday or Thursday. What instructions?

On the same day orders were issued to stop all courtesies to the garrison, to prohibit all supplies from the city, and to allow no one to depart from the fort. On the 7th Anderson received a confidential letter, under date of April 4th, from President Lincoln, notifying him that a relief expedition would be sent, and requesting him to hold out, if possible, until its arrival.

On the morning of the 8th the following communication from the President was, by special messenger, placed in the hands of Governor Pickens:—

I am directed by the President of the United States to notify you to expect an attempt will be made to supply Fort Sumter with provisions only, and that if such attempt be not resisted, no effort to throw in provisions, arms, or ammunition will be made without further notice, or in case of an attack upon the fort.

This message was at once communicated to Jefferson Davis, at Montgomery, who entertained the opinion that the war should be begun without further delay. On the 10th Beauregard was instructed to demand the evacuation of Fort Sumter, and to reduce it in case of refusal.

On the following day, at two o'clock in the afternoon, General Beauregard sent two of his aids to make the demand; but it was refused. Still another message was sent, with the same result. On the morning of the 12th, at twenty minutes past three o'clock, General Beauregard sent notice to Anderson that he would open fire upon Sumter in one hour from that time.

At half-past four appeared "the first flash from the mortar battery near old Fort Jackson, on the south side of the harbor, and an instant after a bombshell rose in a slow, high curve through the air, and fell upon the fort."

It was the first gun in the Rebellion. Gun after gun responded to the signal, and through thirty-six hours, without the loss of a single life in the besieged garrison. At noon, on Sunday, the 14th of April, Major Anderson hauled down the flag of the United States, and evacuated Fort Sumter. Before sunset the flag of the Confederate States floated over the ramparts.

The following telegrams were transmitted:—

STEAMSHIP "BALTIC," OFF SANDY HOOK,April 18 (1861), 10.30 A.M., via New York.

Having defended Fort Sumter for thirty-four hours, until the quarters were entirely burned, the main gates destroyed by fire, the gorge walls seriously injured, the magazine surrounded by flames, and its door closed from the effect of heat, four barrels and three cartridges of powder only being available, and no provisions remaining but pork, I accepted terms of evacuation offered by General Beauregard, being the same offered by him on the 11th inst., prior to the commencement of hostilities, and marched out of the fort Sunday afternoon, the 14th inst., with colors flying and drums beating, bringing away company and private property, and saluting my flag with fifty guns.

ROBERT ANDERSON,Major First Artillery, Commanding.HON. S. CAMERON, Secretary of War, Washington.WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON, April 20, 1861.

MAJOR ROBERT ANDERSON, Late Commander at Fort Sumter:—

MY DEAR SIR,—I am directed by the President of the United States to communicate to you, and through you to the officers and men of your command at Forts Moultrie and Sumter, the approbation of the government of your and their judicious and gallant conduct there, and to tender you and them the thanks of the government for the same.

SIMON CAMERON,Secretary of War.

The conspiracy had now ceased to be such. Revolution and war had begun, and by the firing upon Fort Sumter the political atmosphere was cleared up as if by magic. If there were now any doubters on either side they had betaken themselves out of sight; for them, and for all the world, the roar of Beauregard's guns had changed incredulity into fact. Behind those guns stood seven seceded States, with the machinery of a perfectly organized local government and with a zeal worthy of a nobler cause.

The news of the assault reached the Capitol on Saturday, April 13th, On Sunday, the 14th, the President and his cabinet held their first council of war. On the following morning the first "call for troops" was proclaimed to the whole country, in a grand "appeal to all loyal citizens to favor, facilitate, and aid this effort to maintain the honor, the integrity, and existence of our National Union, and the perpetuity of popular government."

The North was now aroused. Within forty-eight hours from the publication of the proclamation armed companies of volunteers were moving towards the expected scene of conflict. For the first time in the history of this nation parties vanished from politics, and "universal opinion recognized but two rallying points,—the camps of the South which gathered to assail the Union, and the armies of the North that rose to defend it."

The watchword of the impending conflict was sounded by Stephen A. Douglas, one of the most powerful and energetic of public leaders, a recent candidate for the presidency, and the life-long political antagonist of Abraham Lincoln. On Sunday, the 14th of April, while the ink was scarcely yet dry upon the written parchment of the proclamation, Mr. Douglas called at the White House, and, in a long interview, assured his old antagonist of his readiness to join him in unrelenting warfare against Rebellion. Shortly afterwards he departed for his home in Illinois, where, until his death, which occurred a few weeks later, he declared, with masterly eloquence, that,—

"Every man must be for the United States or against it; there can be no neutrals in this war—only patriots and traitors."

"Hurrah! the drums are beating; the fife is calling shrill;Ten thousand starry banners flame on town, and bay, and hill;The thunders of the rising wave drown Labor's peaceful hum;Thank God that we have lived to see the saffron morning come!The morning of the battle-call, to every soldier dear,—O joy! the cry is "Forward!" O joy! the foe is near!For all the crafty men of peace have failed to purge the land;Hurrah! the ranks of battle close; God takes his cause in hand!"

TOMMY TAFT

A STORY OF BOSTON-TOWNBy A.L.G

Tommy Taft, or T.T. as he was wont to call himself, had always regretted two misfortunes,—first, the indisputable fact of his birth, and second, the imprisonment of his father, not long afterwards.

The earlier misfortune, Tommy Taft, not being at the time aware of it, was of course quite unable to prevent. The later misfortune it was alike beyond his power to forestall. It came to pass that young Tommy Taft grew up to be as crude a specimen of body and soul as had ever flourished in Boston-town.

I have not set myself the task of following the drift of his life from the dawn of babyhood to the twentieth anniversary of the same. But one event ought to be here recalled, which was, that on a certain day Tommy Taft was at work in a garden and in just that part of the garden, it ought to be said, where the wall was so low that a person could easily look over it into the long, narrow road.

Tommy Taft was not particularly fond of work; in other words, he was not a great worker. On this occasion, however, the promise of an extra shilling being uppermost in his mind, he plied his energies with more than wonted skill. He was disposed to be meditative as well, and so deeply that he chanced not to perceive an aged personage who, for perhaps five and twenty minutes, had been cautiously scrutinizing him from across the wall.

It was a most extraordinary fit of sneezing—nothing more nor less—that first attracted the attention of Tommy Taft, and prompted him to look up. And what did he see? Only a weather-beaten face, shaded by a ragged straw hat out of which peeped locks of grizzled gray hair. The owner leaned somewhat heavily against the wall.

Tommy Taft was not amazed; but if he had not already become accustomed to affronts and ill-shapen visages, he might have been awed into silence. He merely paused, with his right foot on the shoulder of the spade share, and peered at the stranger. To the best of his knowledge, he had never seen him before. On a former time, however, he had chanced to see his own face in a mirror and, odd as it may seem, he now remarked to himself a striking resemblance between the two faces,—his own and that of the new comer. But his thoughts were quickly turned.

"I say, young man!"

"What say?" replied Tommy Taft.

"You don't happen to know a young man by the name o' Tom Taft, do you?"

"I reckon I do." The youth plunged the spade share into the earth, and folded his arms.

"Have a shake, then," continued the stranger.

"But that ain't a tellin' me who you be," said Tommy Taft, approaching and holding out his hand.

"I'm Jim Taft; and if so be your father was a shoemaker in this town and got locked up—I say, I'm he!"

There was pathos in the utterance of these words, and, somehow or other, Tommy Taft's heart fluttered just a little and before he was aware of it a tear was trickling down his cheek.

"Are you happy, young man," queried the elder. He drew himself up on the wall.

"Well, I s'pose I am, though I ain't got nuthin'. But folks as haint got nuthin' and enjoy it is a plagued sight richer than sich as has got everything and don't enjoy it. Yes—I s'pose I'm happy."

"And where's the old woman?"

"Dead, I s'pose."

"Dead!"

"Or in the work-house where she might'nt have been, if you'd a stayed round."

Jim Taft, for it was he, began to think, and the longer he thought, the more troubled he looked.

"You won't say as you saw me loafin' around here, will you?" he asked at length; "that is, if you won't give me a lift, me—your father?"

"How a lift?" inquired his interlocutor.

"A few shillings perhaps; or, perhaps you ain't got a pair o' boots as has in 'em more leather 'n holes, or a pair of breeches as is good for suthin'."

"Wait a bit!" said Tommy Taft. He disappeared; but he soon came back, with an old pair of boots in one hand and a pair of pantaloons in the other.

"There's suthin' in the nigh pocket," he remarked, as he handed the pantaloons to his parent. "I've often s'posed you'd come back, and would need the money what I saved for you."

The parent, however, had not the courtesy to return thanks. He was more anxious to know something about Tom's employer and his whereabouts.

"He's a good one, he is," said Tommy Taft; "and no, he ain't to home. He's in –; and I've got to meet him to-night in the tavern there—."

"In Hog's Lane?"

"Yes."

"Hylton has a heap o' money, Tommy."

"If he have or no, I don't reckon its none o' your business, or mine nuther."

The parent noticed the surly tone in which his son had just spoken, and concluded to say "good day," and to be off.

Tommy Taft wondered what could be the cause of so sudden a departure; and then he wondered whether, it really was his father that had so unexpectedly accosted him. He went back to his spade, and next wondered whether the man might not be an escaped convict. If so, how came he to know John Hylton?

In obedience to orders, Tommy Taft set off to meet his employer at the tavern in Hog's Lane. He supped that evening with the keeper. Afterwards, he lighted his pipe, drew a chair up to the open fireplace, and smoked in silence. Still later, he betook himself through a long, narrow entry, up a narrow flight of stairs, and into a small, square room. After he had closed the door behind him, he observed another door, which, he concluded, opened into the next apartment. It was locked. Tommy Taft was to pass the night in this self-same room, and he had good reasons for believing that his employer occupied the room adjoining and was already sound asleep.

The hours sped by. The tavern-keeper looked up to the clock,—it was after midnight. He locked the big door, and had just diminished the number of burning lamps from six to two, when he heard the sound of voices as in dispute, and seemingly issuing from the room just above. He hurried to the foot of the stairs, and listened. He distinctly caught the voice of Mr. Hylton, and the words of another voice,—"You'll be sorry for that!" The tavern-keeper heard nothing more. Presently, he too went to bed.

Morning came, and the servants were busy in the kitchen. At half-past six, Tommy Taft ought, as on former occasions, to have carried a pitcher of hot water up to his employer's bedroom. But he failed to do so, this morning. At seven, Mr. Hylton ought to have been seated at the breakfast table; but he did not appear.

The tavern-keeper, when the clock had struck eight, went upstairs. He rapped on the door of the small square room. No response. He forced open the door.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Tommy Taft gone! and the bed not slept in, neither!"

The window was open. It had rained during the night, and on the soft, gravel mould beneath the window he discovered foot prints. He turned, and went to the door which communicated between the two apartments. It was unlocked. He turned the knob,—opened the door gently, and beheld John Hylton lying in a pool of blood, with his throat gashed, and with a large clasp-knife clenched in his right hand!

It was indeed a mystery. The discovery of the tragedy was followed by intense excitement. The coroner's jury suspected Tommy Taft as the murderer, because the knife which was found in the hand of the victim bore on its hilt the initials "T.T.", and because the tavern-keeper testified that he had heard angry words in the night.

Tommy Taft was brought to trial. It was proved that the murdered man's money-bag was rifled of all coin, but of only one bank note,—and that, the one which the tavern-keeper had had in his possession the afternoon before the tragedy and which Tommy Taft got changed on the day after the murder. These facts, together with the footprints on the gravel soil, enabled the prosecuting attorney to make out what seemed to both judge and jury a very strong case. Indeed, there was but one person in the court room that believed the prisoner innocent,—that was Tommy Taft himself.

He admitted that he had had a dispute with his employer, but gave no cause and that the latter had peremptorily dismissed him from further service; that the bank-note was given to him that very same night, as the full amount due him; that after the dispute, he could not go to bed; that he bethought him, without disturbing anybody, to steal quietly down stairs and to depart, unobserved, by way of the front door. He sturdily denied that the footprints on the gravel soil were his. He firmly declared his innocence, and that, while he felt that he could tell the name of the murderer, he did not wish to do so, for the reason that he had no proof to support his suspicion.

Tommy Taft died on the gallows. After the execution, people gathered to discuss the event. They began to think, too, as people sometimes will when they have condemned without thinking.

"That boy's pluckier than I'd a bin," murmured an old man, as he dragged his weather-beaten body slowly through the crowd. "He wasn't a guilty, Tommy Taft wasn't."

Nobody knew the speaker, and nobody cared for what he said.

THE MUSE OF HISTORY

By Elizabeth Porter GouldClio with her flickering lightAnd book of valued lore,Comes down the ages dark and bright,Our interest to implore.She walks with glad, majestic mien,Proud of her knowledge gained,E'en while she mourns from having seenMan's life so dulled and pained.Her face with lines of care is wrought,From searching mystery's cause,And dealing with the hidden thoughtOf nature's subtle laws.Yet still she blushes with new lifeIn sight of actions fine,And pales with anguish at the strifeOf evil's dread design.She stops to sing her grandest laysWhen, in creation's heat,She sees evolved a higher phaseOf life's fruitions sweet.'Twas thus in days of GenesisWhen man came forth supreme;'Twas thus in days of NemesisWhen Love did dare redeem.And thus 'twill be in future daysWhen out from spirit-laws,Shall be brought forth for lasting praiseThe ever-great First cause.Then gladly know this wondrous museWho walks the aisles of Time;And dare not thoughtlessly refuseHer book of lore sublime.For in it is the precious forceOf spirit-life divine,Which even through a winding courseLeads on to Wisdom's shrine.

TWO REFORM MAYORS OF BOSTON

JOHN PHILLIPSBy The Editor

The progenitor of the Phillips family in America was the Rev. George Phillips, son of Christopher Phillips of Rainham, St. Martin, Norfolk County, England, mediocris fortunæ. He entered Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge, April, 20, 1610, then aged seventeen years, and received his bachelor's degree in 1613.