Chapter III: Part 3

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.
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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.

MARYLAND.

The attack by an armed mob upon the Massachusetts regiment had called the attention of the entire country to the State of Maryland, and her future course was the subject of deep feeling. Indirectly, Washington was, of course, menaced by her movements, and it became a matter of vital importance that she should be retained in the Union and restored to her fidelity. Not here alone were keen eyes watching her future. England and France, in their eager thirst for dominion and their jealousy of America and her liberal institutions, scrutinized every action, with reference to their own future course. Second only to Washington, therefore, for the time, became the “Monumental City.”

From the 19th of April, the day when the banner of the Massachusetts Sixth was baptized in blood, until the 14th of June, all was suspense, and those who still retained their fealty were reluctant to express their loyalty from fear of personal violence. Then an election was held for members of Congress, and every district, save one, returned decisive majorities for unconditional Union men. The majority of the Legislature were unreserved in their expressions of disunion, and were secretly, if not openly, urging on the State to revolt. As early as December, 1860, Governor Hicks had been solicited to call a Convention for that purpose, and emissaries of the rebel government had labored with untiring zeal to spread secession sentiments among the people. The Governor, knowing the heart of the masses to be true, refused, and his decision came like a thunder-clap upon the Southern partizans who hoped to find him a pliant tool in their hands.

The proclamation of the President, of the 15th April, was tortured into a means of exciting popular clamor, and every effort was made to fan the fires of secession, until they should burst forth in fierce flame. Meetings were held for that purpose, and every possible means resorted to for its accomplishment. While very many of the wealthy and commercial classes of Maryland, and particularly of Baltimore, were in favor of disunion, eminent and influential citizens, some of whom were among the most distinguished public men of the State, and whose names are inseparably connected with its civil and political history, were committed irrevocably to the support of the government. In this cause the industrial classes—the working-men and the farmers—were true to the principles they had always professed. Whatever political parties they had sympathized with, it had been ever on the broad basis of the Union and the Constitution.

An illustration of this was given on the 18th of April, the day previous to the attack on the Massachusetts regiment. A party of secessionists had raised a rebel flag in the suburbs of Baltimore, and had a cannon with which they saluted it, but a vast crowd of working-men from the neighboring foundries assembled, tore down the flag, and threw the cannon into the river. His Excellency, Thomas H. Hicks, Governor; John P. Kennedy, Secretary of State under President Fillmore; Reverdy Johnson, John R. Kenley, ex-Governor Francis Thomas, Hon. Henry Winter Davis, Edwin H. Webster, Alexander Evans, and many others boldly stepped forward, and planted themselves in the foreground, to resist the tide of dishonesty, passion, and frenzy, into which the State was plunged by the conspirators. Five thousand citizens of Baltimore addressed a letter to Governor Hicks, on January 2d, approving his course in refusing to call the Legislature together to authorize a Convention, and public meetings were held throughout the State for the same purpose. Notwithstanding this great demonstration of popular opinion, the secessionists were resolved upon making the attempt; and, though foiled in their measures, seized the opportunity afforded by the passage of Northern troops through Baltimore, to enkindle the flames of civil war, hoping, in the confusion, to urge their schemes to a fulfilment.

The pressure upon the Governor after this event became almost insupportable. All the combined influences of political, social and commercial classes were brought to bear upon him, and the wild denunciations and contemptuous and bitter invective and threats hurled incessantly upon Baltimore and Maryland by a large portion of the northern press were persistently used to press the Executive to the commission of the fatal act. Thus urged on all sides, he was compelled, in deference to the sudden and violent appeals of the people, to request the government to send no more troops through Maryland. The proclamation of the President of the 15th of April, and the call for troops, was represented by the secessionists of Maryland, as in other States, as an attempt to “coerce,” “invade” and “subjugate” the Southern States. They used this appeal with great effect on the popular mind, and the passions of the people were so inflammable, that many whose convictions were utterly opposed to the disunion measures were determined to resent this attempt to “subdue” them. On the 17th of April an excited disunion meeting had been held in Baltimore, and great efforts were made to commit the citizens to the secession movement. On the following day Governor Hicks and his Honor George Wm. Brown, Mayor of Baltimore, issued proclamations calling upon all citizens to keep the peace. The Governor assured the people that no troops should be sent from Maryland, except to defend the national capital. The arrival of Massachusetts troops and the fatal occurrences of the 19th, caused an almost entire cessation of business, and all commerce was suddenly prostrated.

The secessionists were determined to render it impracticable for any more troops to reach Washington, and for this purpose destroyed the bridges and a considerable portion of the tracks of several railroads both north and south of Baltimore.

The Pennsylvania Northern, Philadelphia, Annapolis Junction, and Baltimore and Ohio roads suffered extensively; and in consequence of these lawless proceedings, the greatest difficulty was apprehended in getting troops to Washington in time to protect the capital from the threatened attack.

On the 21st the government announced that it took possession of the Philadelphia and Baltimore railway as a military road. During the temporary delay and obstruction to the travel, it was almost impossible for travellers to pass either way. Many were molested in Baltimore; some were placed in confinement under false charges by the secessionists, and all were compelled to pay exorbitant prices and resort to the rudest means of conveyance to pursue their journeys, when permitted so to do. On the 22d the Mayor and Police Board of Baltimore laid an embargo on provisions and necessary supplies, as the interruption to transportation threatened a deficiency of food.

The Governor, under these extraordinary circumstances, called a special session of the Legislature, which assembled at Frederick, on the 26th of the month, the capital, Annapolis, being then in possession of General Butler, who threatened to arrest the whole body if an ordinance of secession were passed. The secession members of the Legislature then attempted to procure the organization of a Board of Safety, which should have discretionary power during the crisis, but public meetings were immediately called, which were loud in their denunciations of this covert transfer of the State to its enemies, and it was abandoned. Resolutions protesting against the war, and recommending the President to desist, and resort to arbitration, were adopted, and a committee appointed to visit the President and induce him to promise that no more troops should be passed through Maryland. The President replied that the public necessity must govern him, and that he would consult the wishes of the people to the utmost extent that the national welfare would permit.

The Legislature, after the report of the Committee had been submitted, on May 6, discussed the questions at issue, and on the 10th adopted a preamble and resolution, declaring Maryland sympathized “with the South in the struggle for their rights, solemnly protests against this action, and will take no part in it, denouncing the military occupancy of the State, and transportation of troops, and imploring the President, in the name of God, to cease this unholy war.”

The reorganization of the military departments for the war was progressing with all possible dispatch. The Department of Washington was assigned to Colonel Joseph K. F. Mansfield, the Department of Annapolis to Major-General Butler, and that of Pennsylvania to Major General Robert Patterson.

On the 5th of May, General Butler took possession of the junction of the Baltimore and Washington and Baltimore and Ohio railroads, at the Relay House, nine miles south of Baltimore. Four days afterwards a body of United States troops landed at Locust Point in that city, and were conveyed by the cars through it without interruption. The Marshal of the city, John K. Kane, was known to be deeply implicated in the work of rebellion, and he was arrested and search was made at the police headquarters for concealed arms and supplies.

The people of Maryland held views which her disloyal legislators had misrepresented. On the 14th of May, a meeting was held at East Baltimore, at which strong Union resolutions were adopted, pledging “lives, fortunes, and sacred honor,” to its defence, declaring the right of the government to convey troops through the State, and their own right and duty to aid them in the work.

General Butler the same day occupied Federal Hill, at Baltimore, and issued a proclamation which was scattered in immense numbers among the people, and contributed in a high degree to the restoration of confidence and harmony among all classes. An important step was also taken by Governor Hicks, who, on the same day issued a proclamation calling for the State quota of four regiments of volunteers for three months, to sustain the government and to protect the capital. General Butler had seized various military stores intended for the rebels, and also took possession of arms and powder belonging to loyal parties, to prevent their being removed by enemies to the government.

Brigadier-General Butler, having been appointed Major-General, and placed in command of the military Department of Virginia, North Carolina and Tennessee, a most important position, was transferred to Fortress Monroe, and was succeeded by General Cadwallader on the 20th. Fort McHenry was reinforced, and put into the most effective condition for immediate service, and the conspirators of Baltimore were restrained from further disorders by the apprehension that any attempt at insurrection would be the signal for a bombardment of the city. After Cadwallader came into command, several arrests of prominent persons had been made. Among these was Mr. John Merryman, who applied to Chief-Justice Taney for a writ of _habeas corpus_. This was granted; and General Cadwallader, in answer, said that the prisoner had been arrested on charge of various acts of treason—of holding a command in a company having in possession arms belonging to the United States, and of avowing his purpose of armed hostility to the Government of the United States. In such cases General Cadwallader said he was authorized by the President to suspend the _habeas corpus_ act; he therefore requested Judge Taney to suspend further action until instructions could be had from the President.

Judge Taney thereupon issued a writ of attachment against General Cadwallader for contempt of court. The Marshal proceeded to Fort McHenry to execute the writ, but was refused admission. Judge Taney urged that the President had no authority to suspend the act of _habeas corpus_, or to authorize others to do so. An elaborate opinion to that effect was prepared by the Judge and has since been published.

A sufficient number of troops were also at this time stationed in Baltimore, and the loyal citizens were assured that they would be protected in all their rights and privileges, at every hazard. Thus fortified, protected and encouraged, the loyalty of the people was fully displayed, while the disloyal were held in check. Maryland, glorious in her past history, and her devotion to the Constitution, was saved from destruction, and her loyal citizens will in generations to come receive the plaudits of millions whose gratitude will be deep enough to overwhelm her few days of revolt.

DESTRUCTION OF THE GOSPORT NAVY YARD.

APRIL 21, 1861.

The splendid naval and military establishment at Gosport, Virginia, belonging to the Federal Government, was, at the time Virginia seceded, in the possession of the United States. It was supplied with immense quantities of military and naval stores; and several old vessels which had been withdrawn from service, and others of great value, were either waiting orders to sail or undergoing repairs. The entire establishment, whether on land or water, was indispensable to the conspirators, for the possession of the Navy Yard would give them immediate control of ordnance stores and property worth $30,000,000.

The seizure of this vast establishment having been determined upon, five or six vessels had been sunk by the rebels in the channel of the Elizabeth river, below the Navy Yard, thus effectually preventing the passage of larger vessels.

General Taliaferro was placed in command of the insurgent forces then rapidly concentrating at Norfolk. Commodore McCauley, who commanded at the Navy Yard, had been reluctant to adopt any measures which would bring him into hostility with the State troops, and thus inaugurate the war. The rebels took advantage of this leniency, but for once they were disappointed in their expectations of success. The Commodore determined to destroy the _immediate agencies of the war_, leaving the armories, ship wood, docks and dwellings unharmed, hoping that, although they might for a time be occupied by the insurgents, the stars and stripes would eventually float over them in triumph.

At 8½ o’clock on Saturday evening, the 20th April, the Pawnee, containing 600 Massachusetts troops from Fortress Monroe, arrived at Gosport harbor, the Commodore’s flag at its mast-head the white sails, relieved by the dark blue sky, appearing more like the floating wings of the dove of peace than heralds of destruction. The scene that followed is thus graphically described by an eye-witness.