A
special thanks to Civil War historian Bruce Nichols at mapmaker3@aol.com
for sharing this interesting chapter by Mary Stella Hereford
Ball, daughter of Lizzie Powell Hereford, published in the
“Reminiscenses of the Civil War”. Her detailed account
of the turbulent times during her imprisonment includes
mention of several Monroe Countians and county related
events.
------------
“In
1861 the storm clouds were gathering over Missouri with
almost cyclonic swiftness and men and women waited
breathlessly until the decision of Missouri’s loyalty or
secession was known. Families and friends were divided here
as elsewhere in the states by this decision. One small
Missouri town especially, Palmyra – afterwards to be made
famous by the inhuman massacre of ten innocent men – was
eagerly discussing war news. Even children fought their sham
battles in the streets, young girls and youths held their
enthusiastic, though friendly debates, at evening
gatherings, little dreaming that soon their own lives, too,
would become involved in the great tragedy of the states.
Among the belles of the town was Mildred Elizabeth Powell.
Young,
exceptionally beautiful, cultivated, of high parentage and
distinguished ancestry, she easily swayed her young friends
by reason of her eloquent enthusiasm, her expressive brown
eyes and her ready tongue, which knew well how to employ the
heated rhetoric which was so customary in those days. Her
nineteen years had been spent in Missouri with those who had
reared her with extreme tenderness and affection, and her
heart glowed with the loving sympathy and loyalty to those
who had shared her youthful friendship.
Among
these was a young girl, Margaret Creath, daughter of Elder
Jacob Creath, the great expounder of the tenets of the
Christian Church, then in its infancy. It was while visiting
at her home that she urged her young friends ‘to go
south,’ as the _expression was then used, and join the
Confederate forces, and not to listen to the persuasions of
the Union men or their newspapers. Her character was of so
positive a nature and her influence was so great that she
became feared by General McNeil, then commanding the Union
forces at Palmyra, and without warning she was arrested and
made a prisoner of war.
The
great lawn at Prairie Home, the name of Elder Creath’s
home, was one day surrounded by soldiers in numbers,
commanded by Colonel Smart, who requested to see her. She
fearlessly complied, but her spirited answer whetted the
anger of her captors, and in a few hours she was
imprisoned, to remain until months later she was banished
to Nevada, then a far-away territory, where communications
with her friends could but rarely be received. Extracts
from her journal at that period of her life will give a
better idea of the oppression and cruelty that she
underwent in her desire to aid Missouri in her struggle
for liberty that anything I can say:
Prairie
Home
Monday,
September 29, 1862. Rose this morning to find our beautiful
prairie in front of our dwelling overspread with hostile
troops who, like the frogs of Egypt, have covered the land
in an hour. Through the day various privates and officers
have invaded the house, demanding mil, butter, eggs,
chickens, turkeys, etc. The command, Colonel Smart’s –
poor Elliott Majors is held by them as a prisoner. Aunt and
I prepared a nice breakfast for him this morning and sent it
over by ‘Cuff,’ who found the poor fellow, all mounted,
to be taken to Mexico. Of course, he was not allowed to
receive any favor from his friends or relatives, so some of
his persecutors had the pleasure of enjoying a meal solely
intended for poor unfortunate Elliott. I could not suppress
my indignation when I heard the circumstance.
About
six o’clock Captain Poillon, with a guard of forty or
fifty, drew up in front of the house and alighted. A guard
immediately surrounded the dwelling whilst five or ten
officers entered, and upon being called for I went down.
Captain P. met me rather excitedly and commenced a general
introduction to those who accompanied him. I requested him
to dispense with this, as it was not my desire to be
introduced to those whose acquaintance I had not sought and
did not expect to cultivate. To this he replied with
asperity, stating with evident satisfaction that his
business at that time was to arrest me. I insisted that the
lateness of the hour would prevent me from accompanying him
to Colonel Smart’s headquarters. However, with him acting
under imperative orders, and being assured I should be
returned by nightfall, I reluctantly consented. Uncle’s
buggy was impressed, and I was taken to Colonel Smart’s
headquarters.
As
we approached the camp the soldiers drew up in line for us
to pass. The escort drew up in front of a dirty-looking tent
surrounded by at least fifty dirty, dusty, unshaven,
unfeeling-looking hirelings who commenced gazing and staring
in my face as though I was a hyena. Upon being ordered to
alight and enter the tent, I refused, and after a few sharp
words Colonel Smart presented himself – a heavy, strong,
athletic man about forty-five years of age. He addressed a
few remarks to me, told me I was his prisoner, and that my
arrest was designed as a punishment for the many offenses
that I had committed against the government in discouraging
enlistment, persuading my friends to fight against the
administration and a great many other things, to all of
which I exhibited the most profound indifference, and
unconcernedly remarked to him as he ceased speaking that
from the beginning of the war in our state the unprincipled
party that inaugurated it had waged it against the women and
children, and that the cries of the weak and unprotected
were more pleasing to his party than the defiance of the
brave. He did not reply to this, but turned and left me. I
overheard him giving his orders to McElroy, captain of the
escort, and instead of allowing me to return home I was sent
to a farm house about two miles distant for the night.
“McElroy,” said Colonel Smart, “take this rebel to Mr.
Alverson’s house, now used by our men as a hospital, and
keep her tonight under double guard, as Majors’ me are in
ambush not far off and may attempt a rescue. Tomorrow she
will be taken to Mexico.”
Captain
Poillon also heard every word, and promised to befriend me
in any and everything consistent with his duty. I then asked
him if he would also send word to my aunt to have my trunk
in readiness for the next day’s journey. He promised to do
so. My kind friend, Mrs. Alverson, was very much surprised
to see me under arrest, and poor Lou sobbed outright. Here I
met with several Federal officers with whom I had but little
conversation. To all their questions I gave the most bitter
sarcasm for answers that my excited brain could suggest.
Here at tea for the first time in my life I sat at the same
table – but how could I eat – break bread – eat salt
– with the enemies of my country. The house is surrounded
by guards, one of whom has threatened to shoot me. Captain
P. refused to send my message for my trunk. Write a note to
aunt and pin it under the negro girl’s apron and tell her
to rise early in the morning – pass the pickets for the
ostensible purpose of hunting the cat.
Tuesday,
September 30. – Slept very little last night – had such
a headache, produced by excitement. Dear little Lou, with
her small, soft hand, would smooth back the hair from my
burning forehead. The parlor is occupied by six soldiers.
Early after breakfast Captain P. came, bringing with him my
own sweet cousin, Irvin, who had gained permission to
accompany me. Captain Poillon continues to annoy me by
introducing Federal officers – among the number is
Lieutenant Bradley, who is to take command of the escort
that is to take me to Mexico, twenty miles distant. Major
Woodson has sent letter by us to Yeiser, the provost
marshal. My not was received and my trunk sent accordingly.
About nine we started and for two hours the ride was very
pleasant, but the heat and the air became oppressive, and
last night’s headache returned. Our escort consisted of
sixty soldiers, styling themselves “Red Rovers.” When we
arrived at the suburbs of the city the train halted. The
soldiers fell into line, unfurled the desecrated old stars
and stripes and marched us into Mexico with all the pomp and
display as though I had been a Madame Roland. Great God, can
men, calling themselves Americans, take such infinite
delight in waging a war against defenseless women!
“Judgment has fled to brutish beasts and men have lost
their reason.” Was delivered over to the provost, who
permitted me to be taken to Mrs. Walker’s without a guard.
The greatest excitement prevailed on account of my arrest.
The house was crowded with friends to know the cause of such
an outrage. Among the ladies who called were the Misses
Larne, whose cousin had been banished to “Ship Island”
by General Butler; also Mr. ------, and my own sweet friend,
Mattie Y-----.
Wednesday,
October 1st. – Several calls this morning –
Dr. Lee, Mrs. L. and others. Hear several flying reports
about myself-annoying because of their falsity. One charge
was that I had been traveling a Confederate spy, recruiting
for President Davis. Have to report by proxy twice a day to
the provost marshal.
Afternoon.
– Lycurgus Batey called; had almost forgotten him in the
change of three years. Sick and dispirited and retire early,
but not to sleep.
Thursday,
October 2nd. – Sent a polite request to provost
marshal to allow me the privilege of seeing poor Elliott
Majors, who is a prisoner here under sentence of death and
desires to see me. The rough, crusty refusal I received
brought the tears to my eyes despite my efforts to the
contrary. About ten o’clock an officer came to tell me to
prepare to leave in half an hour for the cars. He brought a
buggy, thinking I would ride with him. I refused to do so,
and Mr. Smithy, a friend, drove me up to the depot, where I
met with Lieutenant Stidger and a number of friends who had
assembled to see me off. One old lady, who was a stranger,
came up and seemed very much affected. Mr. Morris gave me
some fine peaches. Cars arriving, bid adieu to friends and
embark with my guard for Hudson City. Met Mr. William Bowen
an old friend, on the cars. Purchase a “Republican”
containing an account of the execution of ten men at Hudson
City for the account of the execution of ten men at Hudson
City for the offense of being southerners who did not regard
an oath imposed upon them to support Lincoln’s
administration. Among the number was a boy of fifteen years,
a brave, bright youth, who even at his age had borne arms in
defense of his country. They were shot by order of Col.
Merrill, who, for the dark deed, was promoted to a
generalship. Upon arriving at Hudson City our guard
conducted us to General Merrill’s headquarters. We were
duly presented to this cold-blooded man who, attired in full
dress, paraded up and down the room, his hands crossed
behind him, dictating to his secretary. Here we remained
only a few minutes when we were escorted to the “Union
House,” Egleston the proprietor.
Afternoon.
– Sitting reading. General Merrill entered my room
desiring a conversation, remarking that he had never met
with an intelligent southern lady in Missouri. I replied
that he had been very unfortunate in his associations. He
said the accusations against me were that I had discouraged
enlistments; was a rebel spy; corresponded with Price’s
army; had proven myself a firm friend of Colonel Porter,
supplying him with ammunition and valuable information at
the peril of my own life. To some of his questions I refused
a reply. He assured me I should soon be released and that
every courtesy should be extended me which my position in
society entitled me to receive. Professed to be very much
interested in my behalf, complimented me highly, amounting
even to flattery. I assured him, under the present
circumstances, I did not feel disposed to receive his
sarcasm or his flattery, whichever it might be.
He
remained nearly an hour, and after tea Cousin Irvin and
myself were seated playing chess when he again entered. We
spent some time discussing religion, politics and war,
differing materially upon the two last-mentioned subjects,
and kept up quite a firing of grapeshot and shell in the
form of words. Spent a very unhappy night, having no
fastening to my door and feeling myself entirely among foes.
The Union Aid Society had a dance in the dinig room just
under my room. The old general invited me politely to
participate, which, of course, I refused with some
indignation to do.
Friday
3rd. – After breakfast we had another game of
chess. General Merrill breakfasted at 11, then came in to
inform me we would continue our journey in one hour. Says
our destination is Palmyra, and that he will send an officer
as a guard for his “fascinating captive,” and says I
should have been Union – that he would be proud to know
that I, with my intense feelings and devotion to a cause,
was numbered among the loyal ladies of Missouri. Great
Heavens – how preposterous the thought that I could
identify myself with those who marked their pathway through
my native state with despair and gloom. With Queen Catherine
I can say, “Is it possible for me to love the enemies of
my country and my liberties.”
Cars
arriving at one, Lieutenant Easley present himself to
accompany me, and proves quite a friend and quasi-southerner
– gives me a copy of Edgar Poe to read and proposes
assisting me in escaping to Illinois, which proffer I
refuse, telling him I belong to a party that never runs.
Reach Palmyra at 4 o’clock. The lieutenant kindly assures
me he will not report me till morning, so that I may rest
one night without a guard. Take rooms at the National Hotel
and order my supper in my room. Landlady, Mrs. Reider, very
kind, and thinks I am a Union lady, sister of Lieutenant
Easley; consequently tells me of the arrest of Miss Creath,
and that a young lady friend of Miss C. was also under
arrest and was expected hourly; said she had heard General
McNeil say they would be held as prisoners till the close of
the war. I humor the joke by an attempt to play Union and
learn by it many little things that will prove of interest
to me. Mr. Clay Vivian of Paris and cousin spend the evening
in the parlor with me. Clay V., traveling under an assumed
name, is making his way to Richmond. Retire to my room and
sink to sleep to the measured tread of military beneath my
window.
Saturday
4th. – Awakened by the bright sunlight
streaming in at my window. Breakfast in my room, after which
Cousin P. came in and talked with me until the landlady
announced Lieutenant Easley in the parlor desiring to see
me. Went in and found him waiting to escort me before
Colonel Strachan. Went with him with much reluctance and had
the humiliation of being introduced into a room filled with
gentlemen. Yet it did not require much time to discover that
most of them, like myself, were prisoners. Colonel Strachan,
a low, red-faced man, with small, keen black eyes and dark
hair, brown whiskers and drew up a chair for me in close
proximity to the one he had occupied. I bowed politely, took
the chair, placed it some distance from him and took a seat.
With a frown he resumed his writing at the table –
occasionally remarking to a prisoner: “Stand up here, sir.
How many horses have you stolen,” etc., at the same time
casting sidelong glances at me, with a look of triumph, to
know he had me at last in his power. He had been making the
threat – now it had been executed.
Remained
in his office nearly an hour, during which time several lady
applicants presented themselves for passes to see friends in
prison – most of whom were refused in such a heartless
manner that my heart swelled with indignation, and the
contempt – supreme disgust – I felt for the soulless
being manifested itself in every reply I was forced to make
him. After a spirited discussion of the circumstances by
which I was surrounded Lieutenant Fuller of H-----, who
rejoiced in the position of a subofficer in the militia,
made his appearance with a band of bleached muslin
encircling his hat – I suppose to designate his rank –
and I was ordered to go with him to the house of Elder J.
Creath, to keep company with his notoriously disloyal
daughter. Just at this moment my friend, Rufe Anderson,
opened the door and exhibited great surprise in seeing me
and requested the privilege of taking Mr. Fuller’s place,
which was refused, Colonel Strachan remarking, “Mr.
Anderson, Miss Powell has the honor to be at present under
military surveillance, and you are not a military man,”
but added, “You can walk with her if you desire, in
company with the lieutenant.” We returned to the hotel,
where I called the landlady, informed her that I had been
her prisoner, and had been sent by the colonel to keep
company with my particular friend, Miss Creath. The surprise
the old lady exhibited was highly amusing. Poor Sister Mag,
how fearfully imprisonment tells upon her delicate frame.
She was almost beside herself with joy to know we were not
to be separated. At tea time the house was surrounded by a
guard. Sister Mag and I spent the whole night in
conversation.
Sunday,
October 5th. – Spent most of the morning in
reading my Bible and in conversation. In the afternoon Mrs.
Pittman and Mr. and Mrs. Smith, who are the only ones
outside the family we are permitted to see, came out to see
us, and bring no very encouraging news to us, as they think
we are here for the war. The dark clouds that have been
rising in the sky all afternoon begin now to dissolve
themselves into a slow rain – a dreary, chilling rain –
almost enough to sadden the heart of anyone, much less a
prisoner’s.
Monday,
October 6th. – Guards still stationed around
the house, carefully watching every movement. My friends see
General McNeil and make an ineffectual attempt to have me
paroled. Colonel Strachan absent in H., trying to collect
evidence against us. About 10 o’clock an officer, calling
himself Lieutenant Moon, came up to station guards, called
for me, and when I appeared pointed to his dirty-looking men
and told them to know their prisoner, to look at me well and
know whom they had to guard. I felt frightened for a moment,
but it soon gave place to indignation, and I said, “Yes,
take a good look. It may not be often that you see a lady
– a real live rebel – besides, I have the power of
assuming a great many forms. One day I may metamorphose
myself into a bird of passage and will take my flight.”
Sister
Mag and I agree to read three hours a day, play chess two
and work one, commencing with the History of the Bastile.
One of the guards, styling himself Thos. Allen, boasts that
he was a spy in General Green’s camp in July. I make an
attempt to bribe him and find I could succeed if I desired.
Poor, indeed, is the prospect of such a cause when such
unprincipled creatures are relied upon to sustain it.
Beautiful moonlight! We site and sing, and then retire dream
of “Home, Sweet Home,” and freedom once more.
Tuesday
7th. – Spend the morning reading and playing
chess. Hear that poor Tom Sidener, who was captured in
Shelby county, is here, confined in this loathsome prison. A
great many other southerners are also in that unhealthy jail
waiting exchange. According to the proclamation of General
Halleck, they were to be exchanged in three weeks if they
would give themselves up. But the weather grows cold and the
leaves are falling, the only protection from heat or cold
that those brave, noble boys have known for months;
willingly sacrificing personal comfort rather than become
the slaves of these cruel tyrants who infest our state.
After we had retired I had a note from Colonel Strachan
saying he would call the next morning.
Wednesday,
October 8, 1863. – A dark, dreary day. Wake with no very
pleasant reflections. Begin to realize that I am, indeed, a
prisoner. The day passes as usual, with work, reading and
writing. In the evening Colonel Strachan came, bringing with
him Major Cohen, a former acquaintance. Went into the parlor
and quite a sharp, bitter discussion ensued. Agree to with
Colonel Porter a cartel for the exchange of horses. Colonel
Smart tells me the sentence of “banishment” is passed
upon Maggie and myself, confining us to the northern portion
of Indiana till the close of the war. He promises to remove
the guards if I will give bond for my appearance.
Thursday,
October 9th. – Dear Mrs. Pittman has called and
promises to see Colonel Strachan and try to have the
sentence of banishment revoked. O Heavens! Is this the
“Land of the free and the home of the brave?”
Friday,
October 10th. – Clear, bright and beautiful
overhead but muddy underfoot, and a bleak fall wind sighing
and moaning through the yellow-tinted tree tops. Write some
letters and lay them aside to await an opportunity to get
them to the office. Our friends see Colonel S., and find him
determined upon banishment to Indiana. Maggie and I join
together and write an appeal to General Merrill, requesting
him to have the sentence revoked or delayed until we could
have a fair and impartial trial.
Saturday,
October 11th. – The day lovely, calm and bright
– a strange contrast to the many scenes of carnage and
bloodshed enacted before its close. Mrs. Agnes Smith called
and we stole down to see her. Mrs. Thompson sent Maggie a
beautiful bouquet of rare flowers by the underground
railroad, and among the buds we found a little note secreted
expressing the heartfelt sympathy extended us by the dear
southern people of Palmyra.
Sunday,
October 12th. – Mr. and Mrs. S. and Mrs.
Pittman came out – brought late papers and some nice
grapes for the “poor fettered birds,” as they styled us.
Monday
13th. – Just two weeks a prisoner – feel the
effects of confinement and loss of freedom. Maggie and I are
left alone today, and in the afternoon disguised ourselves
completely and went down street to the dressmaker’s; only
made ourselves known to Judge Redd and one or two good
friends.
Tuesday
14th. – Unpleasant dreams woke me early today,
and upon looking out of my window behold the face of the sky
covered with clouds. A chill, dreary atmosphere prevails and
warns of the sad approach of the “sere and yellow leaf.”
God grant protection to our noble-hearted soldiers exposed
to its chilling rains and frosts. Every hour of my life I am
more forcibly impressed with the hardships and sufferings
they undergo for the sake of liberty. More especially do I
sympathize with those who, like myself, are prisoners.
Afternoon.
– Sister Em and Charley with Laura C.came up. They applied
for a pass to see me, but were refused, when they determined
to come anyhow. So they did, and oh the joy it occasioned to
see the loved ones from home. They stayed but a short time
and had to hurry back to the cars. How sad I felt to see
them leave for H. without accompanying them. Irene Pittman
and Nannie Willock came out to see us, accompanied by the
officer of the day; had to converse in his presence. Heard
that General Merrill was under arrest for the murder of
those men.
Wednesday
15th. – Commenced reading the “Talisman.”
Thursday
16th. – Day passed without anything of interest
occurring.
Friday
17th. – This afternoon received from General
Merrill a reply to our letter in which he says we should not
seek “immunity when made to suffer the penalty of our
crime anywhere in the Federal Union.” Answered in a manner
we expected, consequently not disappointed. Hear at the
supper table that ten of the poor, persecuted prisoners now
confined in the Palmyra jail tomorrow at one o’clock are
to be shot. Some time since Colonel Porter, in the capture
of Palmya, arrested and carried away with him Andrew Allsman,
a spy and reporter. A notice was promulgated by Joe Winchell
allowing ten days for him to return, and alleging as a
penalty for his nonappearance the execution of ten southern
men. The time has expired and he has not returned, and
General McNeil has already issued the death warrants. Great
God! I cannot realize that I hear aright. Surely ‘tis but
a repetition of their cruel threats – so often made
against those who dare oppose their vile, polluted deeds.
Mr. Kennedy of Monroe calls and assures us that it is too
true, and – O Heavens, can I write the word? My poor, dear
friend, Captain Sidener – the noble, brave, bright youth,
the handsome, dark-eyed southerner, the dependence of
helpless orphans – is one of the fated ten.
What
sleep is there for my red and swollen eyes tonight? What
rest is there for this poor burning, bursting brain? Sister
Mag and I, with arms locked closely around each other, pace
back and forth our lonely room, sobs only disturbing the
silence. Then occasionally we kneel and pour forth out
burdened hearts in prayer. The sound of the saw and hammer
are plainly heard, and the light at this late hour in yonder
casement bespeaks the preparation being made for the living
dead. What must be the thoughts of those poor, doomed beings
tonight – no sweet sleep can fold her balmy wings around
their hearts – no sweet thoughts of future meetings with
the loved ones at home to come to cheer them. O, my soul!
Lift, lift to God thy strongest, purest prayer for help in
this trying hour. O, may the thunderbolt of His wrath fall
upon those wicked murderers and save the lives of the
innocent and the good.
Saturday,
October 18, 1863. – Such a lovely day in Indian summer.
Ah! It seems that more appropriately Nature should be
clothed in sadness and her face bedewed with tears. Yes,
she, too, should weep. Too many tears cannot be shed for
these, the good, the brave, “who go forth strong in life
and come not back to us save with the dead.” Grandpa
Creath has gone over to talk and pray with those poor,
distressed victims. O, that I might sleep till the dreaded
hour be past. A large number of women have gone this morning
to General McNeil, and almost on bended knees begged that
the sentence be revoked, but all in vain. He is lost to all
feeling and is almost unconsciously drunk.
Ten
O’clock. – Grandpa has returned, and exhibits more
emotion than I ever saw him manifest; his eyes are red with
weeping, and he says never – no, never in his eventful
life – has he witnessed such a scene, and with trembling
hands clasped earnestly, his gray “eyes sheltered in their
lids,” prayed heaven to spare him from such a trial again.
He visited them in their dark, loathsome cells, and the dear
creatures threw themselves into his arms and pierced the
heavens with their shrieks, their payers and lamentations.
Eight are young men, in the prime and vigor of life, and oh,
it seems so hard to yield to the cruel tyrant monster’s
decree. One o’clock is the hour appointed for their
execution. My brain runs wild, my blood seems frozen in my
veins, my very heart seems pulseless.
‘Tis
over! The dread ordeal is past – and ten noble patriots
have been hurled into eternity. At half past twelve
o’clock they passed through the city sealed upon their
coffins and waving a final adieu to friend and foe. Women
rushed out in front of the procession and prayed for mercy,
which was denied. Mrs. McPheeters, whose own nephew is one
of the condemned, prostrated herself before General McNeil
and prayed him, if he expected mercy at the throne of God,
to spare, if but for a few hours the dear lives in his power
to save. ‘Twas all in vain; her petition was unheeded.
Arriving
at the fair grounds they were seated upon their coffins and
a bandage to bind their eyes offered to each, which was
promptly refused. After prayer by Rev. Rhodes, they were
ordered to kneel to receive their fate, to which Captain
Sidener replied: “I kneel to none but my God.” The
command to “fire” was given by Ervin, and 60 shots were
fired at the defenseless brave. Two fell instantly; the
remainder, though almost perforated by bullets, still
manifested signs of life. Observing it, the fiends rushed
upon them with bayonets and drawn swords and butchered them
in a most horrible manner. My poor friend, Tom Sidener, was
among the latter. He bravely bared his bosom to the shower
of leaden bullets and requested them to aim at his heart,
remarking to a friend near him, “We will meet again; my
home is in heaven.” They died like men – like heroes –
like martyrs!
One
of the condemned had a wife and six little children. She
pleaded long and earnestly with General McNeil to spare his
life, and upon being denied, sank in convulsions at his
feet. A young and noble boy, about seventeen years of age,
who had just arrived that morning to visit a brother in
prison, was so affected by the scene that he stepped boldly
forward, and, lifting his hat from his forehead, remarked to
McNeil: “Sir, if you are destitute of all feeling, I am
not. Receive me as a substitute for her husband. True, I am
young, and life has many charms and ties to bind me to it,
but I have not a wife and six helpless babes.” The noble
sacrifice was accepted, and that great heroic heart perished
with the others. “O Father, forgive them! they know not
what they do.”
‘Tis
a calm, beauteous twilight that is now stealing gently over
the earth, yet a pall darker than Egyptian blackness has
settled over the hearts of the people. From our prison home
we can see the residence of Mrs. Boswell beautifully
illuminated. Upon asking the cause we are told that a large
party is given there tonight in honor of the perpetrators of
the foul deed which has plunged, not only the city, but the
whole country, in despair and gloom. “O woman, with a
devil’s purpose and an angel’s face!” Why seek to
encourage, by your base approval, the crimes of men who are
aiming deathblows at the heart of the Constitution which you
pretend – falsely assert – you love?
Sunday,
October 19th. – How calm, how beautiful the
day! Yet what heart can feel enlivened by the voice of
nature when ten dear southerners are to be hurried away in
their rude coffins, their heads pillowed upon pine shavings,
to the final resting place of the dead? Hear from Colonel
Porter that he has crossed the Missouri river at Portland,
Callaway county.
Monday,
October 20th. – Sent today to procure a lock of
Captain Sidener’s hair, which was dark, long and curly.
Joe Winchel, Editor “Courier,” in describing his dress
and appearance at the time his execution, remarks: “We
were forcibly reminded of the beautiful but misguided
Absalom.”
Tuesday
and Wednesday, 21st and 22nd. – Mrs.
Pittman brings us “Frank Leslie.”
Thursday
23rd. – Wave today at 150 prisoners who are
sent to St. Louis. They responded in cheers, waving their
hats. A Federal officer grew indignant and called out to us
pettishly: “Give them God’s blessing and pray they may
never return to disgrace their country again.” How my
heart ached to see them go, knowing that before the winter
is ended many of that noble band will fall victims to the
horrible diseases that infest their loathsome prisons. Hear
that Colonel S. is removed.
Friday
24th, Saturday 25th, Sunday 26th.
– Three days pass without bringing an incident worthy of
notice. This evening the chaplain of the regiment took the
liberty to call upon grandpa because he was a minister.
Sister Mag and I gave “Major” a quarter to unhitch his
horse, which the little darkey did, showing his ivory at
what he considered a capital joke.
Monday
27th. – Hear that General McNeil says we are
not to be taken out of the state; says he will decide our
cases today. A funeral takes place this morning, Mrs.
Hoskins’ son.
Tuesday
28th, 1862. – Maggie and I are alone today and
revive old memories of Cousin Mortimer and dear Capt. R.E.D.,
their many trials, their cool daring, and our sympathy,
hopes and fears.
Wednesday
29th, Thursday 30th. – Days pass
gloomily away in a prison when not permitted to see friends,
to receive a letter or write a note. Nothing of interest
occurs sufficient to be recorded. Life grows as tedious as
“a twice-told tale.”
Wednesday,
November 12th. – A note was handed me slyly
today from home. How strong a desire it awakened to be with
them once again, visiting – free and untrammeled – with
my friends and breathing again the pure air of God’s
universe. Sister M. and I have concluded to put our heads
together to effect our release or escape.
Friday,
November 14th. - All day my brain has been bent
upon some plan of escaping, if only for a few days, from our
monotonous prison life. Miss Nannie calls and thinks we can
get a parole for a few days.
Afternoon.
– Get Grandma to accompany me to General McNeil’s
headquarters. How I shrink from appearing before such a man
asking a favor. Down, down pride! Let me be politic, for a
few minutes at least, when so much depends upon it. Have
some misgivings, not having any permission to leave the
house, and expect to be sent back under guard. See General
McNeil, who expresses surprise at my boldness in coming out
without being bidden. I tell him that I demand a trial; that
I have waited seven long weeks for him to decide our case,
and ask him to release us altogether. Upon being refused,
ask him to parole Maggie and me for one week to go to
Hannibal. He granted our request, adding that he was pleased
to grant me a request or favor; that he did not suppose
prisoner was a lady possessing the superior qualities he had
found, and his greatest desire was to see me love my
country. I replied, “General McNeil, I am devoted to my
country and her cause, as my present surroundings
indicate.”
Started
from grandpa’s at 3; went up Main street and met several
friends, all surprised at seeing us. Waited at depot some
time for the cars. Met Miss Muldrow and sister. Joe Winchell
came in and eyed us with round-eyed wonder. Reach home after
dark; find Laura C. awaiting us.
Sunday
23rd. – Receive a few calls.
Friday
28th. – An officer and two privates came twice
today to search the house for Lieutenant Boles, who has made
his escape from jail. He was under sentence of death, and
fortunately they have not yet found him. Great God, shelter
and protect him from those who seek to destroy him!
The
snow is falling rapidly and has already covered the ground
some inches. ‘Tis the first snow that has fallen upon the
graves – the new-made graves – of those ten noble
champions of liberty. May it rest lightly upon their bosoms!
The “Times” today contains a demand for the head of
their murderer, John McNeil, purporting to come from
President Davis.
Monday,
December 1st. – Get Grandma Creath to see
Colonel Strachan to ask if we were not released from
confinement by the late order of the War Department relating
to political prisoners. His answer was, if we had repented,
become loyal, and would take an oath to that effect, he
would release us. Grandma was highly insulted by his manner
towards her. I wrote him a pithy little note this afternoon
which I suppose has settled all doubts upon that subject,
telling him I am as loyal as any faithful subject can be to
the best and most superior man that ever graced a
presidential chair. Perhaps it was injudicious –
imprudent; but death is preferred to a cowardly, craven
spirit that will uncomplainingly submit to every indignity.
Mrs. Pittman and Mrs. Smith went to see Colonel Strachan in
regard to our release; found him in the dept surrounded by
prisoners and Federal officers. He was reading my note to
the crowd, and was highly incensed at me for what he was
pleased to term my “sarcastic, bitter letter and
impudence.”
Thursday
4th. – Irene and Nannie got permission from
McNeil to call on us. Nannie gave me photograph of President
Davis.
Sunday
7th. – Ten long weeks since my arrest. Grandpa
went yesterday to secure the interference of Colonel
Benjamin in our behalf. Were it not for Sister Mag my heart
would break. We are devoted as the “Siamese Twins.” What
a sad fate to fall into the hands of such despots! May their
reign be short!
Tuesday
9th. – Sister Mag and I played another good
joke on our tormentors. Dressed ourselves in disguise and
went to Mrs. A’s, where we met Mrs. McPheeters and spent
most of the afternoon. When we get home find Mrs. Thompson,
Irene and Nannie Willock had stolen out to see us and to
bring us some late southern news. Town in excitement about
enrolling, and the jail is crowded with poor southern men
who refuse to comply with their requirements.
Wednesday
10th. – My imprisonment becomes almost
endurable. All health, appetite and energy seem to have
forsaken me. Poor Maggie is sick in bed and is suffering
intensely. She cannot bear to feel that I am sick, sad and
unhappy, and the kind-hearted creature makes every exertion
to make me contented and happy.
Venture
once more with grandma into the detested presence of McNeil.
He was quite polite and has granted me leave of absence
until my shattered health is restored. Says if I will take
the oath I shall be released entirely. I promptly refused,
telling him plainly I had rather die in prison that to
perjure myself before God and man. He was profuse in his
compliments and expressions of admiration. Spoke of the
murder he had committed, and I shuddered at the thought,
which he observed; said I must consider him inhuman and
barbarous, and I frankly replied that I did. A dark scowl
crossed his features, and he proceeded to write a “leave
of absence” for me.
Thursday,
December 11th. – Prepared for home. I am
instructed by General McNeil to consider myself still a
prisoner, and that my prison is only changed. I am also
required to report twice a week to him by letter. At four
the cars came, and after bidding grandma and dear Maggie an
affectionate farewell, grandpa and I went down to the train.
Arrive in H – about five and find my trunk is left behind.
Found Mr. Tom Henson here. All were pleasantly surprised to
see me and supposed at first that I was released.
Sunday
14th. – Heard today of the repulse of the
Federals at Fredericksburg and the removal of Burnside.
Thank heaven! Victory still perches upon our banners. May
the names of the noble dead that perished there
Fill memory’s cup to the brim;
May the laurels they won never perish,
Nor a star of their glory grow dim.
Monday
15th. – Amanda B—n brings out her album of
Confederate generals. After tea stole out to Mr. Foreman’s
prayer meeting. Meet with Sallie G. and Mrs. T., who come
home with me.
Tuesday
16th. – Jennie M. came today and sang
“Officer’s Funeral” for me.
Thursday
18th. – Mite society met here tonight. Every
room crowded. Laura says all night.
December
31st – New Year’s eve. Go over to Mrs. H’s
and receive three letters. One from dear M., who received
her unconditional release the 26th. One from
General Merrill, giving me the preference of banishment to
Indiana during the war or remain in prison in Missouri. The
other from Colonel Strachan telling me I was released. How
joyously the tiding was received and how guarded I must now
be lest by work or deed I offend these supercilious,
female-persecuting dignitaries of our land. Like a bird when
set free from its prison home, it sits for a moment as if
afraid to unfold its trembling wings for flight, lest it is
by some rude hand thrust again in its cage, so I sit,
perfectly stupefied, inactive, desiring to flee from my
persecutors, yet knowing not what course to take, what plan
to adopt.
New
Year’s Day. – All hail, thou new-born year of ’63! May
peace, sweet peace, spread her gentle wing over our
distracted country before thy days are run! May the states
of the South take their places among the nations of the
earth, and before the dawn of ’64 may the South be
acknowledged a free, independent power!
Receive
several calls from gentlemen friends and enjoy the day
because I am once more free. Form the acquaintance of Miss
Zadie Bagwill of St. Louis.
January
4th. – Charlie H – comes out for me to assist
dressing cake for the supper tonight in Brittingham’s –
a supper given ostensibly for Fire company No. 2, but in
reality for the benefit of the southern widows and orphans.
I cannot refuse anything pertaining to an act of charity for
those I love. Eunice Eddy and I succeed in trimming cakes
and arranging tables nicely. Nothing will do the boys but my
attendance this evening; they will receive no excuse.
Promised Mr. R—d to attend with him. He has been banished
to Illinois, and allowed to return last week by orders from
War Department. Meet with Mr. T.D. Price, provost marshal,
who solicits an introduction and passes several compliments;
refuse for the reason that I do not wish to devote the
evening to entertaining a Federal officer.
January
6th. – Meet with an important rebel today at
church, a nephew of Joseph E. Johnston. Was introduced by
Miss Zadie. Long may he live to enjoy the glory he has so
richly deserved.
January
--. Answer Maggie’s letter, and also write to General
Price and mail one to General Merrill. Zadie came to say
“good-bye;” she is going home tomorrow.
January
14th. – Sitting today reading to sister when an
officer came to order me to report forthwith to Provost
Marshal Major Price. Do not feel well enough to leave my
room, yet go down with Mrs. Bowen to hi office. Shows me an
order of banishment, requiring me to leave my native state
in twenty-four hours to return no more “during the war.”
Major Price tell me if I refuse to obey the order I am to be
again imprisoned. Show him my release from McNeil and demand
the cause or reason for this change of action. No
satisfaction was given me except that it was for no new
offence that I was again under military arrest. ‘Tis, I
feel, an illegal, personal persecution, instituted by Major
Price himself, because I refused an introduction to him. He
paroles me to the limits of sister’s yard.
January
17th. – Brother Wilks came out today to confer
with me and to offer his Christian sympathy.
January
18th. – Hail glorious Sabbath! As I sit at my
window watching the crowd of passers-by, winding their
footsteps to the house of prayer, how sadly my heart throbs
in my bosom to think of the many long weeks and months I
have been denied the blessed privilege of taking my
accustomed seat and mingling my voice, as I once did, in
their sweet songs of praise. My dear little Sabbath school
scholars take every opportunity to assure me that I am
missed. Will there be a prayer breathed for me today? Will
one sigh be heard for my cruel fate? Ah, yes; I know I will
be remembered by the “faithful few” among whom I have so
often met. Spent most of the day in reading my Bible; the
Psalms are my selection now, because they are so sweet and
sad, yet withal, so comforting.
Mr.
R—y and Mr. Richmond called, kindly bringing me books.
Amanda B came to say good-bye, as she leaves tomorrow with
her mother for St. Louis. Mr. H—n and John T—spent the
evening. We never know what a host of warm friends we
possess until the dark storm of adversity beats upon us.
Poor J.T. says he wishes he might suffer in my stead.
Monday,
January 18th. – Receive another order to report
tomorrow morning at nine o’clock to hear my fate. All
advise me to refuse banishment from my friends in the
severest months of winter and my present ill health. So I
know my doom will be a second incarceration. My poor old
father placed his thin trembling hand upon my head this
morning when I finished reading him the order, and with
tears in his eyes remarked: “My daughter, trust in God.”
O Father in heaven, Do I not, have I trusted in Thee through
the saddest trials of life, and has Thou turned a deaf ear
to the many heartfelt prayers offered for the success of
right over might.
Thursday,
January 20, 1863. – Wake to find a heavy, wet snow upon
the ground, and poor head almost bursting with pain.
Directed a note to Major Price requesting him to call if his
business was imperative, as the weather and ill health would
prevent obedience to his commands. At noon he came, somewhat
indignant, and said he would place me forthwith under guard.
Brother Willie offered himself security for my appearance if
he would permit to remain until my health was restore, but
he was persistent, cruelly persistent, and demanded my
appearance at his office at three o’clock. Says I am to be
placed under guard in solitary confinement in a room at the
Continental. Poor sister is almost frantic, yet tries to
suppress her grief in my presence. My little niece – my
little motherless pet – stole in a few moments ago, and
winding her soft arms around my neck, whispered through
sobs: ‘Aunt Lizzie, will not those cruel men let me come
and stay with you? You can take little Bobbie – he is a
prisoner, but he will sing to you.”
Six
O’clock. – Alone, all alone in my prison room at the
Continental. Methinks I caught a glance of pity and sympathy
from the landlady, Mrs. Short, as I passed through the
parlor. Major Price is from Massachusetts, and I can expect
no favors. Oh, I should hate myself if I asked one at his
hands. Twilight deepens, and I sit alone – sad but not
cast down – listening to the measured tread of the armed
and savage-looking German guard at my door, which is the
only sound that disturbs the stillness.
Wednesday,
January 21, 1863. – Opened my door this morning to ask a
knife of the guard to sharpen my pencil. Was struck to
recognize in him a friend of other days. Frank Jackson, a
brother to one whom I once loved as devotedly as a sister. O
war! With all thy attendant evils, what can be more
maddening than to find former friends changed to deadly
foes. How strange to see that slender boy dressed in the
uniform I so much detest standing guard over one whom he
once professed to love and respect so kindly.
Emma,
sweet pet, and Katie B. came – I could see them from my
third story window – said they had been three times to
Provost Price to see me, but he will not giver her
permission to so do. Little Arthur H. came to the door and
asked the guards if he could see me. The guard opened the
door and permitted the little fellow to look in, but would
not allow him to speak to me. He brought me some nice yellow
apples, and I could see a tear in his brown eyes as he
turned away. He is just six years old. When he grows to be a
man will he remember this scene in his early life? Will he,
can he love and respect the flag that was waved over
imprisoned females – over the ruins of our temple of
liberty. Heaven bless the boy! How my heart warms towards
those who show a kind sympathetic part when in distress.
‘Tis
twilight, the close of another lonely day in prison. How
eagerly I listen to each footstep passing my door, wishing,
oh so fondly, to hear a pause before my door and some loved
one would enter. What would my poor R.E.D. think, away in
his sunny home in the South, if he knew the sad
circumstances that surround me. I sit by the window and
strive to forget my sorrows in gazing down into the street
upon the motley crowd hurrying towards their different
places of abode. So many all bound one way – each heart a
mystery to the other and each a little world to itself.
Today the enrolling officers have been trying to enforce
Order 1001, and many southern men refusing to enroll their
names with those whom their souls detest are, life myself,
prisoners.
Thursday,
January 22nd. – Today sister, Mrs. Wilks, Mrs.
Robards, and other friends applied to see me, but I presume
it was in vain, for sister waved at me from the street and
shook her heard, indicating her ill success. My Bible!
Sweet, hallowed book! – whose sacred pages a mother’s
eye hath scanned, what a treasure art thou now in my lonely
hours. How consoling are thy precious words. Yes, it is thy
page that record the sweet promise of my Saviour to His
sorrow-stricken children, “Lo, I m with you always, even
unto the end of the world.” And I know He tempereth the
wind to the shorn lamb and heareth the young ravens when
they cry. He, too, hath said, “Let not your hearts be
troubled.”
Friday,
Janurary 23, 1863. – Gave the guard money to buy me a
paper and some reading matter, but he replied Major Price
had given him his instructions that he was to let me have no
book or papers to assist me in passing away the time. How
fortunate then that I brought a volume of Walter Scott and
my Bible with me. In my Bible I can always find something
new. Tonight new guards are stationed, and they all have to
take a look at their prisoner. One is a Dutchman, the other
is a fine looking man. He seems kind and sympathetic, and I
overheard him say he would perish sooner than load his gun
for a woman; that he would rather be a prisoner with a
thousand men to guard him than to engage in the unmanly act
of persecuting me. When the evening wore on and he was left
alone, he slipped a note under my door. I picked it up and
read, “Young lady, you are not unknown to me and I am a
friend. Tomorrow they expect to take you from this house,
wither to a dilapidated hotel in S. Han. or to St. Louis. If
I can be of service to you do not fear to trust me.” How
my heart beats. Can it be that I have found a friend in this
horrid guise, or is he seeking to betray me. How my brain
whirls; how can I leave my home and my friends and be thrown
in those miserable prisons in St. Louis, to suffer with cold
and die, perhaps, with those infectious diseases that are
hurrying away the poor victims there by the hundreds. No, I
will refuse to leave this city, and if I have to go it will
be by physical force I am taken.
Saturday,
January 24th. – My guard, in whom I found a
friend, has been removed and a raw Dutchman fills his place.
Before he left he threw a Harper and some late papers into
my room. He was an editor in Fulton, knew R.E.D., and
published hi key to the “Emanant.” He was also nine
months in Price’s army, and upon the margin of the
magazine was penciled: “Think not I am here by choice –
far from it – and tomorrow morning you will hear that with
six others I have made my escape. Be of good cheer. You are
effecting more for our holy cause in you cheerless prison
than a dozen recruiting officers could do.” O, I would I
had trusted him to mail some letters to my friends. Do they
not know how soon I may be forced from them. The Dutch guard
I heard this morning wishing that I with all the d—n
traitors was in h—l.
Later.
– O, what an unexpected kindness I have received. How my
heart bounds with gratitude too deep for words to speak.
Tears will force themselves into my eyes and my heart bounds
with emotions unknown before. I have friends, thank heaven!
That was been demonstrated even in my solitary prison – I
knew this morning when the Dutch guard was relieved, yet I
knew not who took his place, until my door was quietly
opened and friend W—l spoke to me. A note was thrown
hurriedly in, the door closed and the calm, measured step
renewed before my room as before. I read hurriedly:
“Lizzie, poor girl, you are to be taken tomorrow to St.
Louis; refuse positively to go, and tell them that they will
have to use main force to take you. You have many friends
and sympathizers who are groaning beneath their oppressions
and your own. Tonight at nine open your window and lower
from it anything you may wish to communicate to friends.
Persons will be present to receive them and also to send up
to you letters and money. Be cautious for the sake of
heaven, as the safety of yourself and friends depend upon
it.” That was all, and the key has turned gratingly in the
lock. A low conversation in the hall denotes the return of
the guard.
Afternoon.
– The guard let poor little Arthur H. look in at me today.
How his bright eyes and sweet face cheer me, and he looks up
into my face with a look of such sweet, childish innocence
and pity that it reaches my heart. Boy, may thy young heart,
like Albert Tell’s, early learn to love truth and freedom
next to life. Major Price sent back my letter today because
I had not “left it open to his inspection.” ‘Tis night
once more and I wait impatiently the hour of nine. I have
written two letters and several notes, made a long line of
yarn, the only string I had about me; I have tied my letters
in a hankerchief with a little apple to give it weight to
descend quickly.
At
8 o’clock Mr. Armstrong came to say I was to prepare to
leave my present prison. “Where am I to go, Mr.
Armstrong?” I asked pleasantly. “It is not necessary for
you to be informed. All you have to do is to obey orders,”
was his reply. “One thing is certain, Mr. Armstrong,” I
answered, “I do not leave here this night.” At this he
laughed in my face with a defiant air, remarked he has the
means, the men and the power, and he would tame at least or
subjugate one rebellious “South Carolinian.” Uttered in
the spirit of a true black Republican, whose ambition,
patriotism and bravery aspires no higher, I replied “than
to shoot unarmed men and imprison defenseless women.” He
wheeled and left the room, closing the door violently after
him and turning the key with a hurried hand upon me. What am
I to do? To Thee, O God, I turn and pour forth my burdened
soul in prayer.
Nine
O’clock. – Mr. Armstrong handed me a note from Major
Price which read: “Owing to the lateness of the hour, Miss
Powell is excused from obeying orders tonight. Tomorrow
morning she will hold herself in readiness to leave at eight
o’clock as her presence her is disagreeable to the loyal
inmates of the Continental.” A few minutes after Major
Price came in. Oh, how much solicitude I feel for the safety
of my friends who are doubtless waiting to assist me. Major
Price said I had done right in refusing to leave; that he
admired and commended me for it. Charged me with trying to
convert one of the guards, as he with six others had
deserted and would be shot if captured. Said he did not wish
me to have papers or books with which to employ my time.
That he desired to punish me so severely that I would be
glad to obey the order of banishment – that he had refused
at least a dozen friends the privilege of seeing me, and
that my confinement was to be as solitary as possible. I do
not remember now what I said to him, but I know that he left
me with a burning cheek and remarked, “Miss Powell, if
every man that fills the southern ranks is actuated by as
much principle and devotion to the cause as yourself, I
would always love and respect the South. Would that our
ladies were half so zealous in their country’s cause.”
After he left I blew out my light and sat in the window.
Waited a few moments only till I heard a well-known voice in
subdued tones whisper, “All is right.” In an instant
almost my package was lowered, and in a few minutes more I
drew another up – a number of notes and letters and a roll
of “greenbacks.” My dear friends, how sincerely
interested they appear. Mr. H. has gone to St. Louis with a
petition to Governor Gamble to have me released. Judge P.
has written to Major Rollins and J.B. Henderson in
Washington to have the freedom restored of which I have been
so unjustly deprived. To know we have friends fills the
heart with gladness, even in a prison.
Sunday,
January 25. – The occurrences of last night seem almost
like a dream, and I would persuade myself that I have been
dreaming did I not find closely grasped in my hand
unmistakable evidence that it was indeed a reality. How many
causes I have this holy Sabbath for thanksgiving and prayer.
At eight Mr. Armstrong called again and informed me for the
present I would be taken to R.R. house to await an order
from St. Louis requiring my presence there. I pronounced
myself in readiness, and after descending two flights of
stairs I found myself at the parlor in which were assembled
officers and their wives, and as I passed on, closely
followed by the Dutch guard, I heard whispering, laughing
and clapping of hands. At the door a closed carriage stood
in waiting. Mr. Armstrong handed me in, stepped in himself
and closed the door, and we moved slowly off, the guards,
with their guns at charge, marching along by the side of the
carriage.
Arriving
at the R.R. house, I found again the windows filled with
heads, men and women congregated to see a live Secesh. I
wore a bonnet in southern colors, and, passing through the
crowd, I threw aside the veil which partially concealed
them. This house bears the reputation of an asylum for
run-away negroes. My room, with no fire, no carpet, very,
very small, with but one little window, presented such a
cheerless appearance I felt my fortitude forsake me, and
when I heard the savage-looking Dutchman turn the key upon
me I could no longer suppress the tears that seemed choking
me. From my little window I could see the Mississippi, the
Father of Waters, a stream I have always loved, and feel an
emotion of pride that my home has been so long beside its
waters. It is forcing its way along towards the mighty gulf
with a calm, quiet, resistless freedom which the icy breath
of winter has not checked. O, friend of my earlier and
happier days, as thy waters which I now see fast receding
from my view lave the shores of the sunny South, bear upon
thy bosom a message to the brave hearts there that upon thy
bank stands a Lincoln bastile in which is pining one whom
they hate and scorn because she has dared to love the brave
and desires to be free.
‘Tis
night, O heaven, how can I sleep upon this horrible bed of
straw, these offensive, dirty, greasy quilts, these hard
pillows of straw. My brain seems a ball of fire, my hand
trembles so I can scarcely write, a strange, wild feeling
seizes me, and I pace back and forth this gloomy room until
it seems if the uncarpeted floor were not iron it would bear
the imprint of my footsteps for ages to come.
Monday,
January 26, 1863. – O, what a long, sleepless night I have
passed. The guards, drunken and infuriated, made several
ineffectual attempts to enter my room, and had it not been
for small bolt I had fastened over the lock their efforts
must have been effectual. Finding they were defeated, I
could hear them heaping their curses upon me and planning to
come in through the window. I was almost speechless with
fear – to cry for help would have been but mockery when
there was no arm to save. I sprang upright in my bed and
kept that position until daylight. O, how I welcomed the
first rosy tints of morning that peeped with cheering light
into my little window.
Two
O’clock. – Great heavens! I have had another return of
that horrible hemorrhage which caused my life to be
despaired of when at school. I am perfectly prostrated and
the crimson tide of life continues to rise in my throat and
mouth without abating. My hands are coorless as marble and
it is with great effort I clasp this pencil in my trembling
fingers. O, to suffer so and be alone. No kind, cool hand to
rest upon my burning brain, no one near to breathe a kindly
word of sympathy. No one has entered my room since nine
o’clock, when the chambermaid brought my breakfast – a
cup of cold coffee, some fried mush, codfish and potatoes
– and left my room with a curled lip and many airs because
I could not eat.
Sent
a note tonight to Major Price requesting a physician, as I
feel a great deal worse as night approaches. O, how can I
spend such a night as the last. The landlady came in about
three o’clock bringing me my dinner, which I found
impossible to eat. She is German, and sat down a few minutes
by my bed, drew from her pocket a large Dutch pipe and
filled my room almost to suffocation with the smoke. From my
window I can see a boat has landed at the depot, the first
boat that has ventured this far for some time. A woman with
a babe – I suppose a passenger – has been assigned to
the room adjoining mine. Through an aperture in the wall,
made for a stovepipe, between us I heard her inquire of the
chambermaid why the guards were stationed in the hall.
Shortly after the chambermaid left her she peered through
the aperture into my room. Supposing it was curiosity that
prompted her to see who the young lady was, I glanced up at
her, then turned my head away. She spoke my name in a
whisper and indicated by her gestures that she wanted to
speak to me. I felt almost too weak to stand, but by
supporting myself with the bedpost I stood up almost face to
face with her. She commenced by assuring me that she was a
friend; she had just returned from Alton prison, where she
had been to visit and sick son confined there, and, added
she, “The mean cowardly treatment the poor fellow received
there, the intense suffering I witnessed during my short
stay, has caused me to make a solemn resolve that henceforth
and forever my humble means, my life, is dedicated to my
country’s cause.” She then remarked if I needed
assistance as far as she could she would render it. How I
thanked her in my inmost heart as I sank back almost
exhausted upon my couch of straw. In a short time I had
penned a note to father telling him how I was situated, also
one to another friend in Palmyra. These I gave her with the
one I had written to the President. If she should betray.
Tuesday,
27th. – Pa came this morning and had received
my note. O, my dear father – it has been many, many
months, and even years, since I saw him so much affected so
broken-hearted as he seemed the fifteen minutes allotted him
to stay. How his pale lips quivered and his hand trembled as
he stood by my bed. Price had given him a pass, but had
refused to allow our family physician to accompany him.
Sister sent me some dinner and dear Mrs. C. sent me
“brandy peaches,” of which she knew I am so fond. ‘Tis
evening again and my illness it seems increases. Sent for
the landlady her husband, Captain Gillett. The Captain
seemed moved with compassion when he saw me, he could
scarcely control his voice to speak; said he would have
given me a room with a carpet and every accommodation, but
Major Price would not permit. Captain G. sat down and wrote
a hasty note to Price, telling him to send a doctor
immediately. In about an hour Dr. Duffield, our family
physician, came; says I am very sick and need constant care.
The landlady at my request takes the key tonight from the
guards.
Sunday,
February 2nd. – Four days have passed since I
recorded my thoughts and feelings upon the pages of my
journal. Dr. D. says that I have been very low, but now
danger is past if I take good care of myself. Received a
note today from Major Price, accompanied by a box sent to me
from Palmyra. The note said that he was determined still to
make me obey the order of banishment and that he would make
my prison unendurable. Hoped I would see the propriety of
yielding implicit obedience forthwith. I replied that it was
impossible to do so, and that I would endeavor to bear
patiently and heroically any measures his heart prompted him
to enforce. Tonight he came himself, seemed surprised to
find me so weak, thought my illness had improved my
appearance as it had given me a “helpless, dependent,
patient air, which he desired to see depicted in my face.”
Repeated again his threat that if I did not consent to leave
and said he felt convinced that close confinement would kill
me. I begged him long and earnestly to let sister visit me
some times until I recovered, but he obstinately refused.
Said he would remove guards until I grew better.
Mrs.
Gillett has grown very kind to me; takes care of my dear
little bird, “Robert Lee.” She brought her brother, a
Mr. Selleck, in to see me. He is a Democrat and could not
find expressions too bitter to apply to those fanatics who
would persecute a woman.
Friday
30th. – Captain G. and lady came in this
evening to request me to instruct them in chess. He took his
first lesson and seemed delighted. A captain’s wife sent
me a glass of cider.
Sunday,
February 9th. – Mr. Selleck sent me by his
sister the “Caucasian” and “The Times” to read
today, the first papers I have seen since my illness. How
drearily the time passes with no one to talk to but my
little canary.
Monday
10th. – Captain G. and lady came again and we
had a stolen game of chess. Captain G. has been negotiating
with Price for my release, which he has said can be effected
by taking the oath. Refuse again to forswear myself.
Wednesday
12th. – Mrs. Selleck sent me Ballou’s
Magazine and a Democrat. Major Price told me he had fully
intended sending me to St. Louis, and might do so yet, but
for present I was to remain where I was. Said I was much
more comfortable than the prisoners in Richmond, confined in
tobacco warehouses and in Libby prison. How I detest the
man! Seemingly so devoid of feeling and everything that
pertains to manliness.
Thursday
13th. – How swiftly the weeks seem gliding by.
Would that I were free to enjoy them as they pass. A buried
life, I suppose, will be mine for years if the fettered
spirit does not burst its prison bars and basks in the light
and freedom out under the sun. A light snow has fallen and a
sleigh containing two friends passed my window this morning.
A handkerchief was waved in token of recognition and away
they whirled, the merry sleigh bells dying away in the
distance like a fading dream, reminding me of the days that
once were free and joyous and my heart kept time with their
merry music. Mr. Selleck sent me a little present with a
note, and no one can tell much a little kindness is
appreciated under such circumstances. He pitied my
loneliness and relieved it all he could. Sent a note to
Brother Wilks.
In
their part of the long war the southern women proved
themselves glorious heroines in many ways, though I think
but few of them were actually made prisoners of war. When
banished my mother was accompanied to Nevada by her devoted
brother, James Powell. She was the only white person of her
sex in the large territory, and at first she suffered
greatly from fear of the Indians, who were so numerous and
many of them hostile. Eventually she learned their language
and made many staunch friends among the red faces. Here she
instituted the first Bible class, reading to those rough
miners who had come to seek gold in the mountains of Nevada.
At first this was but a handful of men sitting under a great
pine, but eventually this gentle and eloquent woman read
every Sunday long portions of her Bible to hundreds of men
who had pitched their tents near the mining center of
Virginia City.
It
was here that she met my father, Alfred Powell Hereford, a
young lawyer practicing in the active little mining town.
They were both descended from Col. Levin Powell, a hero of
the Revolution, but were not aware until many years
afterwards of the distant relationship. They were married in
Virginia City in 1864, where one child was born, Jennie, who
died in infancy. They moved to St. Joseph, Mo., after the
war, where one daughter, Mary Stella, was born, now Mrs. R.E.
Ball of Kansas City, and four years later one son, William
Richard (W.R. Hereford is prominent in social and literary
circles of Paris and New York, and is the author of several
popular books – as well as being contributor to most of
the leading magazines of the day.)
Her
health, impaired by her long imprisonment, would not stand
the Missouri climate, and on the advice of her physician, my
father took her to Denver, Colo., where they were both
prominent in that rapidly growing city. My mother, of an
extremely religious nature, here again exercised her
influence and organized a small body of Christians, who
called a minister and thus founded the first Christian
Church of Denver. She was greatly beloved by all who knew
her, and was interested actively in the politics of the day.
She was instrumental in establishing the Red Cross Society,
then in its early growth, and was the close friend of its
founder, Miss Clara Barton. In returning from a drive with
Mrs. John B. Routt, the Governor’s wife, the horses became
frightened, throwing my mother from her victoria to the
curb, thus giving her the wound which resulted in her death
November, 1877.
Her
loss was greatly deplored, as she was actively associated
with the charities of the town and its hospital, and her
sympathies for the poor and unfortunate were very keen.
Their stories always had a ready ear. My father never
recovered from the shock of her death, and survived but two
years. Her life was particularly blessed in that she
ministered unto such numbers. Her aid was far-reaching and
her influence widely felt, her interest in all whom she
could help keenly alive. Her whole life was full of tragic,
interesting, vivid and thrilling experiences, all resulting
in the supreme good of those associated with her – but my
article dwells only upon the incidents of war. She was a
daring youthful prisoner, and her zeal for the cause
militated against her, and sometimes in after years she
would laughingly cross swords with my father, who was an
equally loyal southerner, but whose uncle, Gov. Henry Foote
of Mississippi, had defeated Jefferson Davis for that
position of honor, she claiming she would have entered the
field against so fine an opponent.
In
my possession I hold scores of original notes, commands from
leading officers, and a small Confederate flag, fashioned in
prison from bits of ribbon, and showing the infinitesimally
small stitches for which I believe the southern women,
taught from babyhood to be skillful with fine needles,
almost as a hall mark of gentle birth, are unequaled in
their perfection. Her lineage, unexcelled, bears no part
here. Her actions show she was “to the manner born.” Her
life, tense and full as it was, was brought to a tragic and
terrible climax, being suddenly killed by runaway horses
while returning from one of the many errands of mercy she
accomplished during her short life.” |