CHAPTER XXII.

THE UNION MEN OF RICHMOND.

AT the tent of the Union Commission, pitched near a fountain on Capitol Square, I met a quiet little man in laborer's clothes, whom the agent introduced to me as "Mr. H—," adding, "There were two votes cast against the ordinance of secession in this city: one of those votes was cast by Mr. H—. He is one of the twenty-one Union men of Richmond."

He looked to be near fifty years of age; but he told me he was only thirty-two. "I've been through such things as make a man look old!" He showed me his gray hair, which he said was raven black, without a silver streak, before the

war.

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"I was four times taken to the conscript camp, but never sent off to fight. I worked in a foundery, and my employer got out exemption papers for me. The Confederates, when they wanted more men, would declare any time that all the exemption papers then out were void, and go to picking us up in the street and sending us off to camp before we knew it. Some would buy themselves off, and a few would get off as I did,— because they could do work nobody else could do."

He was a man of intuitive ideas and originality of character. Although bred up under the influence of the peculiar institution, poor, and uneducated, he had early formed clear and strong convictions on the subject of slavery. "I was an Abolitionist before I ever heard the word abolitionist." He believed in true religion, but not in the religion of traitors. "I never hesitated to tell 'em what I thought. God has no more to do with you all,' says I, than he has with last year's rain. I'd as lieves go to a gambling-house, as to go and

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hear a minister pray that God would drive back the armies of the North. You are on your knees mocking at God, and He laughs at you!' Events proved that what I said was true. After every Fast, the Rebels lost some important point. There was a Fast-day just before Fort Donelson; another before New Orleans was taken; another before Gettysburg and Vicksburg; another before Atlanta fell; and another before the evacuation of Richmond. That was the way God answered their prayers."

He corroborated the worst accounts I had heard concerning the state of society in Richmond during the war.

"It seemed as though there was nothing but thieving and robbery going on. The worst robbers were Hood's men, set to guard the city. They 'd halt a man, and shoot him right down if he would n't stop. They'd ask a man the time, and snatch his watch. They went to steal some chickens of a man I knew, and as he tried to prevent them, they killed him. At last the women got to stealing. We had an insurrection of women here, you know. I never saw such a sight. They looked like flocks of old buzzards, picked geese, and cranes; dressed in all sorts of odd rigs; armed with hatchets, knives, axes,—anything they could lay their hands on. They collected together on the Square, and Governor Letcher made 'em a speech from the Monument. They hooted at him. Then Jeff Davis made a speech; they hooted at him too; they didn't want speeches, they said; they wanted bread. Then they begun to plunder the stores. They'd just go in and carry off what they pleased. I saw three women put a bag of potatoes, and a barrel of flour, and a firkin of butter in a dray; then they ordered the darkey to drive off, with two women for a guard."

Another of the faithful twenty-one was Mr. L, whom I found at a restaurant kept by him near the old market. It was he who carried off Col. Dahlgren's body, after it had been buried by the Rebels at Oak Wood.

"I found a negro who knew the spot, and hired him to go with me one dark night, and dig up the body. We carried

it to Mr. Rowlett's house [Mr. Rowlett was another of the faithful], and afterwards took it through, the Confederate lines, in broad daylight, hid under a load of peach-trees, and buried. it in a metallic case. It lay there until after the evacuation, when it was dug up and sent home to Admiral Dahlgren's family."

Mr. L devoted much of his time and means during the war to feeding Union prisoners, and helping Union men through the lines. "I was usually at work that way all night; so the next day I'd be looking sick and sleepy; and that way, — with a little money to bribe the doctors, — I -I kept out of the Rebel army." In January, 1865, he was arrested for sending information through the lines to General Butler, and lay in prison until the evacuation.

One of the most interesting evenings in my Richmond experience I passed at the house of Mr. W, on Twentyfifth Street. A Northern man by birth and education, he had remained true to his nativity at a time when so many from the Free States living at the South had proved renegades and apostates. Arrested early in the war for " disloyalty," he had suffered six months in Salisbury Prison because he would not take the oath of allegiance to the Confederate Government.

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"I could have got my liberty any day by taking that oath. But I never would, and never did. As good and true men as ever trod the earth died there because they would not take it. Mr. Buck, of Kentucky, was one. Almost his last words were, Tell my wife I would be glad to go home, but I'd rather die here than take an oath that will perjure my soul.' He was happy; he died. Dying was not the worst part of it, by any means; our sufferings every day were worse than death."

Liberated at last, through the intercession of his wife, Mr. W- came home, and devoted himself to feeding and res cuing Union prisoners, and to serving his country in other perilous ways.

He corroborated what had been told me with regard to the number of Union men in Richmond.

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"You will find men enough now, who claim to have been Union men from the first. But of those whose loyalty stood the test of persecution in every shape, there are just twentyone,—no more, and no less. I've watched them all through, and if there's a Union man I don't know, I should like to see him. Those men of influence, who opposed secession in the beginning, and afterwards voted for it, but who pretend now to have been in favor of the Union all the while, were the most mischievous traitors of all, for they carried the lukewarm with them."

There were Union women, however, who worked and suffered as heroically for the cause as the men. "One lady was nine months in prison here for sending information through the lines to our armies. She was very ill at one time, and wished to see a minister. They sent her Jeff Davis's minister. Miserable wretch!' said he, I suppose I must pray with you, but I don't see how I can!

"When my husband was in prison," said Mrs. W-—, "we suffered greatly for the necessaries of life. We had a little money in the savings-bank; and he sent us an order for it: Please pay to my little son,' and so forth. Payment was refused, because he had not taken the oath of allegiance, and the money was confiscated."

Of the labors, perils, sacrifices, and anxieties which the Union men of Richmond underwent, in giving secret aid to the good cause, no adequate account has ever been published, nor ever will be published. "I did no other business at the time. I gave my whole life to it, and all my means. I nearly went crazy. Besides Libby and Castle Thunder, there were several smaller prisons in Richmond. There was one next door to us here. There was another on the opposite side, a little farther up the street. We had the prisoners under our very eyes, and could n't help doing something for them. We could see their haggard faces and imploring eyes looking out at us from the windows, or from behind the windows, for it was n't safe for them to come too near. One day I saw one approach a little nearer than usual, — his head

was perhaps a foot from the window, - when the guard deliberately put up his gun and blew out his brains. He was immediately carried away in a cart; and as a little red stream trickled along the ground, a boy ran after it, shouting, Thar's some Yankee blood; bring a cup and ketch it!' The papers next day boasted that in an hour the dead man was under the sod."

A fund was secretly collected for the benefit of the prisoners. One of the first contributors towards it was an illiterate poor man named White. He put in five dollars. Mr. W— told him that was too much for a man in his circumstances. "No," said White, "I's got two fives, and I reckon the least I can do is to go halves." From that small beginning the fund grew to the handsome sum of thirteen thousand dollars.

White, concealing his Union sentiments from the authorities, got permission to sell milk and other things to the prisoners, which they paid for often with money he smuggled in to them. With small bribes he managed to secure the goodwill of the guard. He played his part admirably, higgling with his customers, and complaining of hard times and small profits, while he gave them milk and money, and carried letters for them. One day a prisoner was observed to slip something into his can. To divert suspicion, White pretended great surprise, and, appearing to fish out a dime, held it up to the light as if to assure himself that it was real. "I's durned if there a'n't one honest Yankee!" said he, with a grin of satisfaction.

Mrs. W obtained permission to send some books to the prisoners; very few reached them, however, the greater part being appropriated by the Rebels. Donations of clothing and other necessaries met with a similar fate. In this state of things, White's ancient mule-cart and honest face proved invaluable. He carried a pass-book, in which exchanged prisoners were credited with sums subscribed for the benefit of their late companions. Many of these subscriptions were purely fictitious, the money coming from the Union-men's fund. On the strength of one fabulous contribution, set deva