An incident occurred in my experience at the Capitol that may be regarded as of particular interest. I have a portion of the Confederate flag that floated over the Capitol, the Capitol of the Confederacy at the fall of Richmond. When last in Richmond the Librarian in the State Library upon my asking him what had become of the flag, showed me a small bundle of bunting lying in a glass book case and he said it was portions of the flag that people had brought back and given to the Library. I told him I had a piece but intended to retain it. Mine came into my hands in this wise. As my father was a member of the House of Delegates this gave me the run of the Capitol and I was intimate with the pages in the House. On one of our excursions through the building we went through the Library and through a garrett above and then through a trap door onto the roof, in returning I was last and lying on the roof, half inside the open trap door was the flag, at the end it had a slit about one inch long and wide and it was so suggestive that involuntarily almost I continued the slit for the flag’s entire length and tearing the strip away, rolled it up and put it in my pocket.
At another time I ran across the Vice President Alexander H. Stephens. Something attracted his attention to me. He regarded me with curious interest, I presume because a little boy was observing him so closely. His lameness and delicately drawn features were sufficient to attract, but his small stature and earnest, studious expression of countenance were equally attractive. He like most of the persons I saw or met in a prominent government relation in Richmond seemed to take the life of these strenuous, stirring times most philosophically and in a matter of fact way free from worry or excitement. When it is remembered that the cannonading below Drury’s Bluffs on the James River below Richmond could not only be distinctly heard but it was only necessary to secure an elevation and see the distinct flash of the cannon it will be seen how close we constantly lived to conditions of trouble. Often I climbed the garrett of the Powhatan Hotel, where many of my legislative friends boarded to see the flash of the cannonading.
Genl. Smith, ex-governor, “extra Billy Smith” he was called was another interesting person I met at the Capitol. The reputation he had acquired of kissing all the babies on his election tours was warranted by his manner. Ease of bearing, perfect accord with you, absolute freedom from any ostentation were patent, no effort to lead in conversation, the friendly utterances of an old friend all bespoke in him the consummate politician rather than the soldier.
One of the most historical events that occurred in Richmond I have never seen referred to in any writing. It was after the return of the unsuccessful peace mission to Fortress Monroe. A mass meeting was held in the African Church in Broad Street near the Monumental Church and the speakers were detailing to the audience the events and results of the mission. One of the last speakers was Judah P. Benjamin, Secretary of State of the Confederacy, and one of Mr. Benjamin’s declarations was made with great vehemence that as long as a drop of blood flowed in his veins and until the last drop, he would never surrender. It is peculiar that Mr. Benjamin was entirely consistent in this declaration of his, because as the Southern Confederacy faded away he escaped in an open boat to one of the near by South Atlantic islands of England, Bermuda, I think, and ultimately reached London where he achieved great eminence in his profession as a lawyer and ultimately retired to Paris where he died without ever returning to the United States.
General John H. Morgan I saw immediately upon his return as a prisoner from the North. He was warmly greeted in Richmond and his gratified expression showed his appreciation. His healthy complexion, well kept, full appearance and free from care air indicated, that although a prisoner he had evidently been supplied with necessaries that were strangers to the meagerly supplied Confederate officers in active service. Genl. Morgan was of rather more than medium size and development and reminded one more of the bonhomie clubman, bordering on the genial and agreeable Bohemian rather than impressing one as the bold dashing border raider in which he had acquired his reputation, and as which he soon after leaving Richmond lost his life.
General J. B. Stewart, “Jeb Stewart,” who commanded the Confederate cavalry was of a remarkable personality. I saw him riding at the head of his cavalry in passing through Richmond. His hair was black and long, his face was full, with large eyes and a prominent nose, his shirt was cut low particularly in front, showing a massive neck. He sat on his horse the perfection of a horseman, holding the bridle in such a way that the horse, a well kept one, seemed to partake of his rider’s intense vitality. Although Genl. Stewart was unlike General Pickett, yet something applicable alike to the two reminded me the one of the other and when I saw General Pickett at the head of his command, as I did, pass through Richmond before the battle of Gettysburg and then saw this same command with its thinned out ranks on its return after the campaign in which that battle took place, the contrast was so heart rending that it was an exceedingly sad welcome extended them. Troops were constantly passing through Richmond the last two years of the war and the scantiness which existed in rations to which I have already alluded, the staple fare being corn bread and bacon, extended to the clothes of the soldiers. In a large command for instance a brigade it was customary to see numbers of soldiers without coats, others without hats, others without shoes, conditions almost incredible to believe unless actually seen as I often did. Upon one occasion while it was snowing a brigade of infantry was marching up Main Street and when it reached the Spottswood Hotel a hatter named Dooley who kept a hat store under the Spottswood rolled from his store a number of large wooden boxes, broke them open and took therefrom a collection of shop worn straw hats which he forthwith preceded to distribute to those of the soldiers who were without any covering for their heads to shield them from the falling snow. How our soldiers with all their discomforts, privations and sad conditions were capable of doing any fighting instead of being the brave, enduring men they were furnished a great tribute for the Southern spirit, and the Southern cause.
General Ewell while he was recuperating from his serious wounds lived immediately opposite our house on Marshall street in Richmond and would daily on his crutches walk up and down the porch. He was tall and slender and in his neat gray uniform and with his dark bushy whiskers enveloping a pallid face his appearance was a reminder of the suffering he had endured.
General Jubal Early was a small, active nervous man with a curious mixture of force of character and apparent volatileness. His most striking characteristic was unceasing restlessness. He said nothing and did nothing that was particularly impressive, but in a large room crowded with men with no particular deference shown to him I was instantly attracted by the movements of one whom I soon learned was General Early and I then understood how he had worked out the results he had in his historical valley campaigns.
Colonel Mosby I never saw until shortly after the war ended, that was at the funeral of Hon. Charles W. Russell in Baltimore. He was a man that reminded me very much of General Early except that he was of a quiet bearing, closely shaven, with keen eyes and an incisive manner and one could believe how he had been successful in the many raids that had made him famous. On one of these raids he had captured General Benjamin F. Kelley and General Crook, two Major Generals in the Union Army, having ridden one night with a detachment of his cavalry through the Union lines to the Hotel in Romani where they were staying, required them to rise, dress and accompany him past their own troops into the Confederate lines, the Federal troops supposing Mosby’s men to be a detachment of their own cavalry. The two captured generals were brought to Libby prison in Richmond. Genl. Kelley had married into a family with whom my own family was intimate and my father when he learned of General Kelley’s arrival arranged to visit him. We took with us a large market basket filled with eatables, such as Maryland biscuit, a boiled ham and other nice things and after passing through the outer offices of the prison we came into the large room where General Kelley was. I was struck with the very small number of prisoners in so large room; Libby Prison had been a tobacco warehouse and this one of the large rooms of the warehouse, on the first floor from the entrance and second floor from the rear. There was only one other Union officer besides General Crook in the room and he was in the open space between that and the next room. We talked with General Kelly near the window in the rear, there were no chairs in the room and General Crook stood off in the middle of the room viewing us with curiosity. He had on long boots that came above his knees, his pants being inside and one foot was on the floor and the other, his right, resting on a box, he was slightly stooping over with his right hand on his knee. General Kelley called to him and he came over where we were and after being introduced joined in our conversation. The extreme pleasure shown by General Kelley and the interest of General Crook at our visit was always a pleasant experience in my life which made me follow in watching the fortunes of these two Union officers until each passed to the other shore, the last being General Crook, his death affecting me markedly from the deep impression he had made on me in that interview and from the close observation I had kept of him.
There was another prison in Richmond not so well known in the North as Libby Prison, but was better known in Richmond and to many Southern soldiers and that was “Castle Thunder.” That was where deserters were kept and the gentleman in command of the prison was Captain Alexander from Baltimore. I once dined with him and his wife at the house where they boarded. I was a guest of Captain and Mrs. Alexander and they had another guest about my age, Rosa, the little daughter of Mrs. Greenhough of Washington, who after surviving a period of confinement in the Capitol Prison at Washington almost within the shadow of the statue sculptured by her husband had been permitted to come South to Richmond accompanied by her daughter.