H. W. Halleck,
Major General Commanding.
General Halleck seemed to be ignorant of the fact that the chief requisite for serving upon his staff was not wanting in the case of my husband, who, as before stated, was brevetted for gallantry and meritorious conduct at the battles of Contreras and Churubusco in the Mexican War.
Halleck's reply was a bitter disappointment to Mr. Gouverneur but a tremendous relief to me, as I knew he was not in the condition of health to serve even as a staff-officer. When he originally broached the subject to me I did not try to dissuade him, as I felt that I had no moral right to interfere with his ideas of duty to his country. The Halleck letter, therefore, brought about a state of affairs in our household much more satisfactory than my most sanguine anticipations. Mr. Gouverneur, having done his full duty, gave up his idea of re-entering the Army and, in a spirit of contentment, began to take up life in our new home.
During the month of August, 1863, we had just gotten fairly settled when the Confederate guerrilla chieftain, John S. Mosby, appeared at our door with his band of marauders. Their visit was brief and we were spared the usual depredations—why, we knew not, unless it were owing to the fact that Mr. Gouverneur's nephew, James Monroe Heiskell, a mere boy of sixteen, who ran away from home and swam across the Potomac to join Mosby's band, possibly accompanied him. Mosby's men in the East and Morgan's rangers in the West represented a species of ignoble warfare. In reality they did not benefit the cause which they professed to serve, but merely molested inoffensive farmers by carrying off their stock and thus depriving them of their means of livelihood. In recent years I discussed with a Confederate officer, the late General Beverly Robertson, Mosby's mode of warfare, and he surprised but gratified me very much by saying that in his opinion, it was a great injury to the Southern cause. It seems hardly just that, during President Grant's administration and later, official positions should have been bestowed upon Mosby while the interests of other Confederate officers who had fought a fair and honorable fight and had battled, moreover, for their country during the Mexican War, should have been neglected.
These war experiences furnished strenuous days for us in our new home and we lived in a state of constant excitement. I well recall the first morning it was announced to us by one of the colored servants, while we were at the breakfast table, that "the rebels were coming," and the feeling of timidity that nearly overpowered me. Very soon some troops under the command of General Bradley T. Johnson, a native of Frederick, marched upon our lawn and encamped all around us. General Johnson immediately came to our door and, although I was in anything but a comfortable frame of mind, I summoned all my courage and met him at the threshold. In a very courtly manner—too much so, in fact, to be expected in time of war—he remarked, "You are a stranger here, madam." I responded: "My life here has been short; my name is Gouverneur." He at once said: "I suppose you are a relative of Mr. Gouverneur of the Maryland Tract." I admitted the fact although I was not quite sure it was discreet to do so, as the Union sentiments of my father-in-law were generally well known, and I was talking to a Confederate General. He and his officers spent some time with us and we found them exceedingly friendly, and thus, at least for a time, the terrors of war were averted. Many years later I met General Johnson in my own drawing-room when he and his wife came from Baltimore to attend the wedding of my daughter, Ruth Monroe, to his cousin, Doctor William Crawford Johnson, of Frederick. We naturally discussed our first meeting when he was greeted with less cordiality than he received during his present visit.
Upon learning of the approach of the Confederates, we made rapid preparations for their advent. As we had learned from our neighbors that the South stood in great need of horses and we owned a number of them of more than usual value, Mr. Gouverneur seized upon an ingenious plan for concealing them. Under our house was a fine cellar which, unfortunately, the horses refused to enter until the steps leading into it were removed. When this had been done, they were led down one by one into a darkened room, and bags were securely tied over their eyes to prevent them from neighing. During the visit of the Confederates, which seemed to us interminably long, owing to our anxiety about the horses, General Johnson sat directly over their hiding place; but they behaved like well-bred beasts and never uttered a sound. I had serious misgivings, however, when I saw a mounted officer, riding around the house to make a survey of the premises, stop at the upturned steps. For a moment I thought all was over and my feelings were akin to those, I fancy, of a person secreting stolen goods; but the investigation happily went no further and he rode on.
When the active preparations for hiding the horses were in progress my children were running hither and thither and watching the process with much interest and excitement. I called them to me and in my sternest tones told them of the near approach of the soldiers and gave them to understand that if they said "horse" or "rebel devil" in their presence I should punish them severely. They had been taught by the negroes on the place to call the Southerners "rebel devils," and I feared for the result if they allowed their childish tongues to wag too freely. A few hours later I spoke to one of the little girls upon some topic entirely foreign to our original subject, but she was so overawed by my threat and the presence of the troops that she seemed afraid to utter a word. After a little encouragement, however, she crept up to my side and whispered: "Mamma, they have taken all of our saddles!" General Johnson was still sitting on our porch, when a soldier approached and asked for an ax. One was immediately procured, when the General, asking the man's name, said: "That ax is to be returned." This order struck me as somewhat ludicrous when a little later I learned that the ax was to be used in demolishing all of our fences! This precaution was deemed important in order to facilitate, if necessary, a more speedy retreat.
As night approached we were asked if a guard would be acceptable, and we were only too glad to avail ourselves of such protection. As we were closing the house for the night, after our strenuous day, one of the soldiers on guard duty remarked to me, in a friendly voice: "Now I am going to bed!" In my astonishment I said: "Where?" The smiling response was: "On the porch, to be sure!" In this state of unrest there was no repose for us that night and we did not even attempt to undress, as we knew not what an hour might bring forth. Just before dawn there was a knock upon the front door and, upon opening it, I found facing me a guard who, without any apology, said: "I left my boots inside!" Before I had locked the front door again and returned to my room, the Southerners had "folded up their tents like the Arabs and as silently stolen away." Only a short period had elapsed when several mounted officers dashed up our driveway and anxiously inquired: "Where are the guards?" They gave me only time enough to say, "They have gone," when they rode rapidly away. We came to the conclusion that they were young men visiting their relatives and friends in Frederick and that the retreat was so sudden that no word of warning could be sent them.
We realized the next day that the hasty departure of the Confederates was timely, as the Union Army was encamped all around us. Some of the officers came to see us and Mr. Gouverneur invited them to dine. This was a period of sudden transitions, for that night the Union Army retreated and the next day the Confederates were with us again, dining upon the remnants of the meal left by their adversaries. It was all we had to give them, as all our colored servants, having been told that they would be captured and taken further South, had fled upon hearing of the second visit of the Confederates. This was naturally a trying experience for me, as no servant except a Chinese maid was left upon the place and I was in a strange locality. But luckily I found the last set of officers pleasant and congenial and ready to make due allowance for all household deficiencies. Several of them were natives of Loudoun County, Virginia, and were familiar with our name, as they had lived near Oak Hill, the estate of Mr. Gouverneur's grandfather, where my husband had passed a portion of his early life. We soon learned that country life during war times without satisfactory servants was much more than either Mr. Gouverneur or I had sufficient courage or strength to bear. This state of affairs resulted in my husband going to New York, where he secured a family of Irish immigrants consisting of a woman and three men. The relative positions of the two armies in our general vicinity had meanwhile shifted several times and we never knew from day to day whether we were destined to greet friend or foe.
On the particular morning of which I am about to speak, the Confederates were again with us. They were apparently unacquainted with the topography of the surrounding country and were naturally desirous of securing such information as should enable them, in case of necessity, to effect a speedy and secure retreat. We received an early call from several of their officers who inquired the way to the "Alms House Road." We had been so busily engaged in trying to settle ourselves down under such adverse circumstances that we knew actually nothing of the surrounding country; and, when Mr. Gouverneur informed our visitors of this fact, they looked at one another in such a decidedly incredulous way as to convince us that they thought we were withholding information. My husband finally sent for John Demsey, one of our Irish immigrants, who had driven considerably around the adjacent country, and one of the officers in a rather offensive manner renewed his query about the "Alms House Road." To our chagrin, John's answer was, "I do not know;" and Mr. Gouverneur, realizing that affairs were assuming a rather serious aspect, said: "John, you do know; tell the officer at once." With true Irish perspicacity he exclaimed: "Oh, sir, you mean the 'Poor House road'—I know that;" and forthwith gave the desired information. In anything but pleasant tones the Irish youth was told by the officers to accompany them as guide, and the order was obeyed with both fear and alacrity. Mr. Gouverneur then exacted from the commanding officer his word of honor that the man be permitted to return, and remarked at the same time, in an ironical manner, that if they continued to tear down our fences and commit other depredations we should all of us know the location of the Alms House.