He corroborated what had been told me with regard to the number of Union men in Richmond.
“You will find men enough now, who claim to have been Union men from the first. But of those whose loyalty stood the test of persecution in every shape, there are just twenty-one,—no more, and no less. I’ve watched them all through, and if there’s a Union man I don’t know, I should like to see him. Those men of influence, who opposed secession in the beginning, and afterwards voted for it, but who pretend now to have been in favor of the Union all the while, were the most mischievous traitors of all, for they carried the lukewarm with them.”
There were Union women, however, who worked and suffered as heroically for the cause as the men. “One lady was nine months in prison here for sending information through the lines to our armies. She was very ill at one time, and wished to see a minister. They sent her Jeff Davis’s minister. ‘Miserable wretch!’ said he, ‘I suppose I must pray with you, but I don’t see how I can!’”
“When my husband was in prison,” said Mrs. W——, “we suffered greatly for the necessaries of life. We had a little money in the savings-bank; and he sent us an order for it: ‘Please pay to my little son,’ and so forth. Payment was refused, because he had not taken the oath of allegiance, and the money was confiscated.”
Of the labors, perils, sacrifices, and anxieties which the Union men of Richmond underwent, in giving secret aid to the good cause, no adequate account has ever been published, nor ever will be published. “I did no other business at the time. I gave my whole life to it, and all my means. I nearly went crazy. Besides Libby and Castle Thunder, there were several smaller prisons in Richmond. There was one next door to us here. There was another on the opposite side, a little farther up the street. We had the prisoners under our very eyes, and couldn’t help doing something for them. We could see their haggard faces and imploring eyes looking out at us from the windows,—or from behind the windows,—for it wasn’t safe for them to come too near. One day I saw one approach a little nearer than usual,—his head was perhaps a foot from the window,—when the guard deliberately put up his gun and blew out his brains. He was immediately carried away in a cart; and as a little red stream trickled along the ground, a boy ran after it, shouting, ‘Thar’s some Yankee blood; bring a cup and ketch it!’ The papers next day boasted that in an hour the dead man was under the sod.”
A fund was secretly collected for the benefit of the prisoners. One of the first contributors towards it was an illiterate poor man named White. He put in five dollars. Mr. W—— told him that was too much for a man in his circumstances. “No,” said White, “I’s got two fives, and I reckon the least I can do is to go halves.” From that small beginning the fund grew to the handsome sum of thirteen thousand dollars.
White, concealing his Union sentiments from the authorities, got permission to sell milk and other things to the prisoners, which they paid for often with money he smuggled in to them. With small bribes he managed to secure the good-will of the guard. He played his part admirably, higgling with his customers, and complaining of hard times and small profits, while he gave them milk and money, and carried letters for them. One day a prisoner was observed to slip something into his can. To divert suspicion, White pretended great surprise, and, appearing to fish out a dime, held it up to the light as if to assure himself that it was real. “I’s durned if there a’n’t one honest Yankee!” said he, with a grin of satisfaction.
Mrs. W—— obtained permission to send some books to the prisoners; very few reached them, however,—the greater part being appropriated by the Rebels. Donations of clothing and other necessaries met with a similar fate. In this state of things, White’s ancient mule-cart and honest face proved invaluable. He carried a pass-book, in which exchanged prisoners were credited with sums subscribed for the benefit of their late companions. Many of these subscriptions were purely fictitious,—the money coming from the Union-men’s fund. On the strength of one fabulous contribution, set down at fifty dollars, he had given the prisoners over a hundred dollars’ worth of provisions, when a Rebel surgeon stopped him.
“Haven’t you paid up that everlasting fifty dollars yet?”
“Doctor,” said White, producing his pass-book, “I’s an honest man, I is; and if you say I can’t put in no more on this yer score, you jest write your name hyer.”