I may be permitted to narrate a personal incident which occurred before I left Montgomery. One evening about sunset, while I was waiting in the office of the Secretary of War, for the comparatively insignificant sum of money to be provided for my expenses to England, Mr. Davis greeted me as Major. I replied: "I might ask, Mr. President, in what regiment," having in mind the well known anecdote of the subaltern who, on handing the Emperor Napoleon his chapeau which had fallen, was thanked under the title of captain. Mr. Davis then explained the principle he had laid down for himself in appointing officers who had been in the U. S. army. It was to advance no one more than one grade. He said that Beauregard was only a captain of engineers, and had been made a brigadier general; but in this, the rule had not been violated, for, by serving at West Point as superintendent although for a few days only—five, as shown by the records—he was a colonel in the army, and had, therefore, been advanced but one grade. Mr. Davis remarked that there were officers enough for all field purposes, but the trouble was to find men qualified to prepare the army for its work.
I had arranged to pass through Charleston in order that I might visit Sumter and see the effect of the artillery fire upon it. Arriving in Charleston in the evening I went to Morris Island the following morning, and from there in a row-boat to Sumter, accompanied by two young artillery captains. We were all young in those days; I was just thirty, and these young men were my juniors by some years. They had both been under my instruction as cadets at West Point when I was on duty there, but I cannot now recall their names. On our return from Sumter, we three lay on the warm sand near the shore, and naturally the conversation was chiefly on the events of the last few days. In the course of our talk, I remarked, "What in the world made Anderson surrender the fort?" For in my opinion it was no more damaged for defence than a brick wall would be by a boy's snapping marbles against it. As for anything the Confederate artillery could bring to bear upon it, it was literally impregnable—as shown by the fact that with all the resources of the United States army and navy it was never retaken. The wooden quarters had taken fire, and, for a time doubtless, the fort was a very uncomfortable place, and it was feared that the magazine would explode. But when Anderson surrendered all that danger had passed.
Major Anderson was a gallant officer who had proved his efficiency and bravery in the Mexican War, for which he was rewarded with two brevets; but for one who saw Sumter as I did, shortly after its surrender, when nothing had been changed since Anderson saluted his flag and marched his command on board the Confederate steamer Isabel, it is impossible to understand why the surrender should have been made when it was. Eventually his command might have been starved out. But although for several days it was short of some kinds of desirable food, and destitute of fresh provisions, there remained several barrels of pork which he took with him when he left. Not only was no assault ever made, but the enemy had no boats or scaling ladders with which to attempt an assault, as Anderson must have known.
If the United States Government deliberately intended to force a war and thus settle once for all the entire question between the North and the South, no strategy could have been more effectual than that of sacrificing Sumter exactly as it was sacrificed. The whole affair could not have been arranged with greater shrewdness and finesse. Anderson and his officers—without an exception, gallant and competent—were made to appear as heroes and, in a sense, they were; the North was completely unified, and the same can be said of the South. The lines were now distinctly and definitely drawn, and every man from Maine to Georgia must declare for the Government or against it. War began such as no man could have foretold and such as could not cease till one side or the other should be completely exhausted.
From Charleston I went to Baltimore by the Bay Line steamers from Norfolk, arriving on Sunday morning—the day that the men who had been killed the Friday previous were to be buried. The excitement was intense, but the city was quiet—uncomfortably quiet. No one knew what next to expect. I was for my own part, concerned only about getting to New York. There were no trains running, bridges having been burned, and no one could say when railway traffic would be resumed.
There were a few other travelers bound northward who were eager to continue their journey. Two of these—young men from Charleston—approached me cautiously with a proposal that we three should hire a carriage to take us to York, Pa., and we arranged to go. Before we were ready to start, an elderly gentleman asked to be permitted to join the party. He was a large, handsome man, and was anxious to get to Philadelphia as soon as possible, to see a daughter who lay at the point of death. The new comer would be a serious addition to the weight in our carriage, but I had reason to be thankful that we accommodated him, as will appear later.
After starting, it was determined—why I cannot now say—to go to Havre de Grace, instead of York. On our arrival in the evening, we found the ferry boat had been taken to convey troops to Annapolis, and there was nothing to be done but wait. We all found comfortable lodgings at a small hotel, and in the morning a flat boat took us across to Perryville.
Among the passengers were several men and women who, as soon as the boat landed, collected on the piazza of a little country hotel near the landing and began singing patriotic songs. They were apparently overjoyed at their escape from the south-land.
At Perryville there was a large wooden shed which served as a railway station; employees were standing about, but none could give any information concerning the trains, all of which, they said, had been taken by the Government. Before noon, however, a long train came thundering into the station, and immediately men in uniform poured out of the cars and ran to the water-side, where they bathed their faces and hands. They were going to the front. The same train was soon ready to return to Philadelphia and all who desired to go were accommodated.