LITMIR.BIZ

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to be influenced by conspirators who were pursuing an intelligent purpose to destroy the Union; just such material as was needed by Vallandigham, Seymour, Andrews, Morgan and Lee to help their projects of further disruption. What became of them? They sank out of sight when the Confederate cause was lost. Naturally they were scorned by the men who had fought for the Union. As time goes on, they and their work is being forgotten. Future historians may be more kind to them than we who suffered because of them, but it is not likely that the descendants of any Copperhead will claim public honors for their anti-Union forbears.

      I am reminded of an incident that was told widely through the armies: When Lee's army reached York, Pa., on the way to Gettysburg, these Copperheads went out to meet the Confederates, and assure them "how they had always loved them." The Confederates wanted tangible proof of this love; they demanded that one hundred thousand dollars in gold be paid at once; else the town of York would be burned. Now, wasn't that unkind! but lovers must ever be ready to prove, you know.

      On our way home we had a railroad smash at Mifflin, Pa. I was curled up, asleep in my seat, but received only a scratch on my forehead. I crawled out of a window and helped recover bodies from the wreckage.

      Fort McHenry is an historic spot. The scene described in our "Star Spangled Banner" was dedicated to it. It was its ramparts Key referred to in his first verse. In 1812 the fort was garrisoned by one thousand men under Major Armisted, to guard Baltimore from an attack by sea. September 13th, 1814, the British admiral, with sixteen heavy war vessels, opened bombardment upon the fort. Its guns failed to reach the fleet till some of the vessels approached nearer. He met so warm a reception that they withdrew, badly damaged. A force of one thousand men landed to surprise the fort in the rear, but they were repulsed. At midnight the firing ceased. Next day the fleet withdrew and Baltimore was safe. During the bombardment Francis Scott Key, a prisoner on board the British fleet, wrote the "Star Spangled Banner."

      I shall never forget July 4th, 1863. The crucial battle of the war, Gettysburg, was being fought. Meade had just succeeded Hooker in command of the army. Anxiously the wisdom of the change was being watched by every soldier. It was my fortune to be detailed as officer of the guard at Fort McHenry that day. Guardmount is always an inspiring exercise, for then troops are carefully inspected and instructed before entry on their tour of duty. Fort McHenry is an ideally beautiful spot, situated on the point of a peninsula formed by the confluence of the north and south forks of the Patapsco river. The spot is loved by every American. A picture, a combination of events, produced the most strikingly emotional effect upon me. We were formed on the exact ground overlooked by Key when he wrote:

      "Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

       What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,

       Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,

       O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

       And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

       Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.

       Oh, say, does that star spangled banner yet wave,

       O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?"

      I was trying to examine arms. Our Post Band, the 2d Artillery Band, one of the grandest in the service, was playing that soul lifting piece. The north fork of the Patapsco was filled with transports, carrying bronzed veterans (I think the 19th Corps), who were hurrying to Gettysburg, and these boys were yelling for twice their number; cheers upon cheers. On the balcony of one of our prison buildings was a prisoner of war, a lineal descendant of Francis Scott Key, overlooking the scene. And I thought of our flag over yonder to the northwest, forty miles away at Gettysburg. Yesterday and day before we had listened, straining our ears to hear the guns. Was our flag still there? Had our boys with Meade stood fast against the lion of the Confederacy, or had the Stars and Bars been flaunted victorious upon the battle ground? God knows how our hearts were strained in those hours. And when I heard the cheers of our soldiers upon the transports and thought of Francis Scott Key and how he had watched to see if Old Glory still waved, my eyes were blinded with tears. I had to suspend my inspection to dry them. I was not alone affected; there were many. Such tears one need not be ashamed of; they are not evidence of weakness. An army of men inspired by such emotions would be best to avoid.

      I shall never forget the relief which came to our anxiety the next morning (July 5th), Gettysburg was ours. Lee was started back to Virginia. Vicksburg, too, was ours. Indeed, crucial was the day, July 4th, 1863. Every one of our ninety millions of united Americans should ever give thanks for the events of that day.

      FILE IV.

       Table of Contents

      A taste of the Draft Riots, July 13, 1863, when conveying wounded Confederates from Gettysburg to David's Island, New York Harbor—Governor Seymour's questionable conduct—A mysterious Mr. Andrews of Virginia— "Knights of the Golden Circle"—"Sons of Liberty" and a North Western Confederacy—Uncle Burdette—The Laurel incident.

      I had a little taste of the draft riots during that memorable week beginning July 13th, 1863. I was ordered to David's Island, New York Harbor, with seven hundred wounded Confederates from Gettysburg. The demonstrations of the mob of onlookers in Philadelphia were so very unfriendly that we had to use the butts of our muskets to control the crowd. They threatened us saying, "to-morrow will be our day." I understood the threat when I learned later of the rioting. We were advised that our train was to be intercepted before reaching New York, and transportation was, therefore, furnished on the steamer "Commodore," by the outside course. After leaving our prisoners at David's Island, we landed at the Battery, and there I addressed my men, cautioning them not to reply to any assault unless ordered by me. We marched up Broadway to the City Hall Barracks (where the New York Post Office now stands) and stacked arms inside the enclosure. I was proud of my men. Each one appeared a giant, steady, firm of step, lips compressed; two-thirds of them were foreign born, yet no better Americans ever paraded Broadway.

      Immediately after stacking arms, a lot of rioters who had just overcome their guards, seized our stacks. Our boys jumped on them and I had a big job to keep them from crushing their ribs. Exceeding my orders, I permitted my men to visit their homes, to report back at midnight. The cars were running but had no passengers. I rode on the Eighth Avenue car to 48th Street, my home. Our house was locked, but Cousin Wilbur F. Strong was there alone. He said Brother A. P. had taken the family into the country for safety. A. P.'s loyalty had made him a "marked man," and he had been threatened. After eating, Wilbur and I walked down to John Hardy's, in 35th Street. Stores were all closed, no one on the streets but an occasional corner loafer, who snarled at us. Hardy had been hiding his colored servant in the coal cellar, to save her life. Wilbur afterwards entered the service, and went on the "Hunter raid" up the Shenandoah Valley in 1864. He died from the exhaustion of the marches.

      At midnight every man was behind his stacked arms, ready for duty. The city was deserted, as if plague stricken. I shall never forget the desolation.

      Ostensibly the draft was the excuse, but with the moving spirits it was but a subterfuge. The ring-leader of the mobs in New York was a mysterious stranger, a "Mr. Andrews" of Virginia. On July 13th, 1863, at 40th Street and Fourth Avenue, while the firemen were at work in Third Avenue, he ascended a shanty which stood opposite the burning ruins. Thousands were assembled behind this shanty in an open space of untilled ground, and the Virginian orator proceeded to address them. He cried out that he wished he had the lungs of a stentor and that there was a reporter present to take down his words; he said he had lately addressed them in Cooper Institute, where he told them Mr. Lincoln wanted to tear the hardworking man from his wife and family and send him to the war; he denounced Mr. Lincoln for his conscription bill which was in favor of the rich and against the poor man; he called him a Nero and a Caligula for such a measure, etc. He then advised the people to organize to resist the draft and appoint their leader, and if necessary he would be their leader (uproarious cheers). Immediately after, the mob destroyed a beautiful

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