THROUGH BALTIMORE.
A terrible civil war, destined to be without parallel for bitter intenseness, was now fully revealed. The curtain that had so long screened the enemies of the Union in their machinations against the Government, had been raised at Fort Sumter; and in the seizure of Harper’s Ferry arsenal, although its usefulness to them had been seriously impaired by the true hearts and hands that applied the torch, and rendered the darkness of night lurid with its conflagration, desolation and ruin had already began their march, leaving their footprints in ashes among the lovely scenes of civilized life, and rioting amid the legendary grandeur and time-honored places of the Old Dominion.
It needed but one act more to encircle us with the thunders of war—to plunge the nation into an almost fathomless ocean of civil hatred and revenge, and leave upon the pages of history the unhappy record of many an ensanguined field. The green sward of a happy, prosperous and free land only remained to be crimsoned with blood! The heart of some martyr freemen needed only to be drained of its life-blood, and the stripes of our old flag dyed a deeper crimson in the precious flood. Soon, too soon, alas! this last fatal act was accomplished. The day after the burning of Harper’s Ferry saw the streets of Baltimore red with sacred blood, and a nation shuddered as the lightning spread the fatal news from State to State.
For months threats had been whispered that Washington should be seized; that an armed mob should revel in the capital and drive Lincoln from the White House. These threats were not idle boastings, as the confidence, celerity, and preparation of the insurgents proved. While the country north of the Potomac was solacing itself with dreams of peace—while plenty was filling every coffer to overflowing, great preparations had been making, and that for a very long time, to secure the end they now had in view. Sudden, unexpected, like the deep tolling of a midnight alarm-bell, the news fell upon the country. Fear, amounting almost to panic, seized upon the people, and when the orders were issued for the instant assembling of troops, the rush to arms was proof positive of this deep alarm.
As in the olden days, the sons of Massachusetts—brave, hardy, fearless as their own sea-washed rock—rushed first to arms and responded to the call. In less than twenty-four hours, seventeen hundred men were waiting in Boston—armed, ready and anxious to march. The order came, and early in the morning of the nineteenth of April—a day memorable in the history of the country, as the anniversary of the battle of Lexington—the Sixth Regiment of Massachusetts militia, commanded by Col. E. P. Jones, of Pepperell, and accompanied by three companies from another regiment, attached temporarily to his command (comprising, in all, about one thousand men), left Philadelphia for Washington, arriving in Baltimore at ten o’clock, A. M. The same train also contained about twelve hundred men from Philadelphia, under the command of General Small. These were unarmed, provision having been made for their being supplied, in this respect, on their arrival at Washington.
On the arrival of the train at the President-street depot, the locomotives were detached, and horses substituted, occasioning much delay, for there was an inadequate supply. A very large crowd had gathered around, and though the reception was not one of courtesy, yet no one would have anticipated serious trouble.
Six cars passed in safety, before the fast-increasing mob (for it could now be called by no other name), succeeded in obstructing the track, and thus cutting off three companies of the Massachusetts troops from their comrades, besides General Small’s command, who had remained at the depot of the Philadelphia road. A hasty consultation was held, and it was determined by the officers to march the Massachusetts companies to their destination; and the detachment, under the command of Captain Follansbee, at once set out.
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.
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.