Postmaster John Reagan, riding on that train, pitied those left behind in Richmond. The fleeing government had abandoned not only a place but its people. A number of citizens had asked for his advice: Should they remain in their homes and “submit to the invading army,” or should they flee? Reagan knew that most had no choice anyway and could not escape if they wanted to.
Throughout the day and into the night, countless people had fled the doomed city by any means possible—on foot or horseback; in carriages, carts, or wagons. Some rushed to the depot, but there was only a single rail line left open, and the small number of locomotives and cars had been commandeered by the government to transport the president, the cabinet, various officials, the Confederate archives, and the funds of the Confederate treasury to safety. The postmaster general knew the truth: Circumstances had “left but small opportunity for the inhabitants to escape.”
As Davis’s train rolled out of Richmond, most of the passengers were somber. There was nothing left to say. Mallory captured the mood around him. “Silence reigned over the fugitives. All knew how the route to Danville approached the enemy’s lines, all knew the activity of his large mounted force, and the chances between a safe passage of the Dan [River] and a general ‘gobble’ by Sheridan’s cavalry seemed somewhat in favor of the ‘gobble.’ ”
Few spoke as the government in exile crossed the bridge leaving the city, and Richmond came into panoramic view. Mallory studied his fellow fugitives. “The terrible reverses of the last twenty-four hours were impressed upon the minds and hearts of all as fatal to their cause…Painful images of the gigantic efforts, the bloody sacrifices of the South, all fruitless now, and bitter reflections upon the trials yet to come, were passing through the minds of all, and were reflected…upon every face.”
The city was still dark, but the fires would come soon. They would not be set by Union troops. The Confederates would, by accident, set their own city ablaze when they burned supplies to keep the goods out of Union hands. This improvident decision would reduce much of the capital to ruins. The flames would spread out of control and devour Richmond, enveloping it with a bright, unnatural, yellow-orange glow that would illuminate the heavens. Jefferson Davis was spared, at least, from witnessing the conflagration.
“It was near midnight,” John Reagan remembered, “when the President and his cabinet left the heroic city. As our train, frightfully overcrowded, rolled along toward Danville we were oppressed with sorrow for those we left behind us and fears for the safety of General Lee and his army.”
The presidential train was not the last to leave Richmond that night. A second one carried another precious cargo from the city—the financial assets of the Confederacy, in the form of paper currency, and gold and silver coins, plus deposits from the Richmond banks. Earlier on April 2, Captain Parker had received a written order from Secretary Mallory to have the corps of midshipmen report to the railroad depot at 6:00 P.M. When Parker learned that Richmond was to be evacuated, he went to the Navy Department office, where Mallory ordered him to take charge of the Confederate treasure and guard it during the trip to Danville. Men desperate to escape Richmond and who had failed to make it onto Davis’s train climbed aboard their last hope, the treasure train. The wild mood at the depot alarmed Parker, and he ordered some of his men—some of them only boys—to guard the doors to the depot and not allow “another soul to enter.”
Once Davis was gone, and the night wore on, Parker witnessed the breakdown of order. “The scenes at the depot were a harbinger of what was to come that night. The whiskey…was running in the gutters, and men were getting drunk upon it…Large numbers of ruffians suddenly sprung into existence—I suppose thieves, deserters…who had been hiding. To add to the horror of the moment…we now heard the explosions of the vessels and the magazines, and this, with the screams and yells of the drunken demons in the streets, and the fires which were now breaking out in every direction, made it seem as though hell itself had broken loose.”
If the rampaging mob had learned what cargo Parker and his midshipmen guarded, these looters, driven mad by greed, would have descended upon the cars like insatiable locusts gorging themselves, not on grain but on gold. Parker was prepared to order his men to fire on the crowd. Before that became necessary, the treasure train got up steam and followed Davis, and the hopes of the Confederacy, into the night.
Back in Richmond, the darkness loosened the restraints of civilization, and the looters went wild. One witness recalled the mood: “By nightfall all the flitting shadows of a Lost Cause had passed away under a heaven studded by bright stars. The doomed city lay face to face with what it knew not.” And, in the evening, “ominous groups of ruffians—more or less in liquor—began to make their appearance on the principal thoroughfares of the city…as night came on pillage and rioting and robbing took place…Richmond saw few sleeping eyes during the pandemonium of that night.”
Union troops outside Richmond saw the flames and heard the explosions. An army officer, Captain Thomas Thatcher Graves, observed: “About 2 o’clock on the morning of April 3d bright fires were seen in the direction of Richmond. Shortly after, while we were looking at these fires, we heard explosions.”
At about 3:00 A.M., while en route to Danville, Davis’s train stopped at Clover Station, about sixty miles northeast of its destination. A young army lieutenant, eighteen-year-old John S. Wise, saw the train pull into the station. Through one of the train’s windows, he spotted Davis, waving to the people gathered at the depot. Later, Wise witnessed the train carrying the Confederate treasury pass, and others too. “I saw a government on wheels,” he said, “the marvelous and incongruous debris of the wreck of the Confederate capital…indiscriminate cargoes of men and things. In one car was a cage with an African parrot, and a box of tame squirrels, and a hunchback.” From one train a man in the rear car cried out, to no one in particular, “Richmond’s burning. Gone. All gone.”
As Davis continued his journey, Richmond burned and Union troops approached the city. Only a few miles away, Lincoln and Admiral Porter heard incredible explosions, and Lincoln feared that some U.S. Navy guns had exploded. But Porter reassured him that the thundering booms were far off, evidence, no doubt, that the Confederates were blowing up their own ironclad warships to save them from capture. U.S. Army scouts closing in on Richmond noticed a bright glow painting the sky above the city like a luminous dome. The scouts knew it was too pronounced to be the result of a celestial phenomenon or gaslight streetlamps. The city must have been on fire.
Around dawn a black teamster who had escaped Richmond reached Union lines and reported what Lincoln, Porter, Grant, and others suspected. The Confederate government had abandoned the capital during the night, and the road to the city was open. There would be no battle for Richmond. The Union army could march in and seize the rebel capital without firing a shot.
The first Union troops entered the outskirts of Richmond shortly after sunrise on Monday, April 3. They marched through the streets, arrived downtown, and took hold of the government buildings. They also began the work of extinguishing the fires, which still burned in some sections of the city. When Lincoln’s army raised the Stars and Stripes over the fallen capital, it signaled, for many Southerners, the end of the world. And then, scant hours after Davis had left it, the Union seized the White House of the Confederacy, pressing it into service as the new headquarters for the army of occupation.
The population of Richmond had endured a night of terror. The ruins and the smoke presented a terrible sight. “By daylight, on the 3d,” witnessed Captain Sulivane, “a mob of men, women, and children, to the number of several thousands, had gathered at the corner of 14th and Cary streets, and other outlets, in front of the bridge, attracted by the vast commissary depot at that point; for it must be remembered that in 1865 Richmond was a half-starved city, and the Confederate Government had that morning removed its guards and abandoned the removal of the provisions, which was impossible for want of transportation. The
depot doors were forced open and a demoniacal struggle for the countless barrels of hams, bacon, whisky, flour, sugar, coffee…raged about the buildings among the hungry mob. The gutters ran whisky, and it was lapped up as it flowed down the streets, while all fought for a share of the plunder. The flames came nearer and nearer, and at last caught in the commissariat itself.”
Union officer Thomas Thatcher Graves entered the city in the early morning, when it was still burning. “As we neared the city the fires seemed to increase in number and size, and at intervals loud explosions were heard. On entering the square we found Capitol Square covered with people who had fled there to escape the fire and were utterly worn out with fatigue and fright. Details were at once made to scour the city and press into service every able-bodied man, white or black, and make them assist in extinguishing the flames.”
Constance Cary ventured outside to bear witness to the ruined and fallen city. Horrified, she discovered that Yankees had desecrated the Confederate White House merely by their presence. “I looked over at the President’s house, and saw the porch crowded with Union soldiers and politicians, the street in front filled with curious gaping negroes who have appeared in swarms like seventeen year locusts.” The sight of ex-slaves roving freely about disgusted her. “A young woman has just passed wearing a costume composed of United States flags. The streets fairly swarm with blue uniforms and negroes decked in the spoils of jewelry shops…It is no longer our Richmond…one of the girls tells me she finds great comfort in singing ‘Dixie’ with her head buried in a feather pillow.”
The gloom suffocating President Davis’s train vanished with the morning sun. Secretary of State Benjamin, Secretary of the Treasury Trenholm, and the president’s aides all contributed to the change in mood. Benjamin, a larger-than-life epicurean and bon vivant, talked about food and told stories. “His hope and good humor [were] inexhaustible,” recalled Secretary Mallory.
With a playful air, Benjamin discussed the fine points of a sandwich, analyzed his daily diet given the food shortages that plagued the South, and showed off, as an example of his “adroit economy,” his coat and pants, both tailored from an old shawl that had kept him warm through three winters. Mallory, who appointed himself unofficial chronicler of the evacuation train, admired Benjamin for his “never give up the ship air” and took notice when Benjamin “referred to other great national causes which had been redeemed from far gloomier reverses than ours.”
Colonels John Taylor Wood and William Preston Johnston, “gentlemen of high character, cultivated minds, and pleasing address,” agreed. “They were quiet,” recalled Mallory, “but professed to be confident, saw much to deplore, but no reason for despair or for an immediate abandonment of the fight.” Colonel Frank Lubbock, the former Texas governor and Davis’s favorite equestrian riding partner during the war, entertained his fellow travelers with wild Western tales. Mallory summed him up with a pithy character sketch: “An earnest, enthusiastic, big-hearted man was Colonel Lubbock, who had seen much of life, knew something of men, less of women, but a great deal about horses, with a large stock of Texas anecdotes, which he disposed of in a style earnest and demonstrative.”
The most important contributor to the jolly mood might have been Secretary of the Treasury Trenholm. Although ill, semi-invalid, and unable to regale his colleagues, Trenholm contributed an essential ingredient to the cheery mood aboard the train: a seemingly inexhaustible supply of “old Peach” brandy. “As the morning advanced our fugitives recovered their spirit,” testified Mallory, “and by the time the train reached Danville…all shadows seemed to have departed.”
Lincoln was unaware of what was happening in Richmond throughout the night. But in the morning he telegraphed Edwin M. Stanton in Washington, informing him that the Confederacy had evacuated Petersburg, and probably Richmond too.
Head Quarters Armies of the United States
City-Point
April 3. 8/00 A.M. 1865
Hon. Sec. of War
Washington, D.C.
This morning Gen. Grant reports Petersburg evacuated; and he is confident Richmond also is. He is pushing forward to cut it off if possible, the retreating army. I start to him in a few minutes.
Lincoln
Soon Lincoln would go to Petersburg to meet with General Grant. But before he departed, he received a telegraph from his son Robert, informing him that he was awaiting his father at Hancock Station.
News traveled quickly. In New York City, Southern sympathizers, including the celebrated Shakespearean actor John Wilkes Booth, mourned the fall of the Confederate capital. New York had never been a stronghold for Lincoln or the Union. Indeed, in 1863, rioting New Yorkers who opposed the military draft had lynched blacks in the streets and become so depraved that they attacked and burned the Negro orphanage. Troops had to put down this mad rebellion. Walt Whitman scorned Gotham as a disloyal citadel of “thievery, druggies, foul play, and prostitution gangrened.”
All day April 3, Washington, D.C., celebrated the fall of Richmond. The Evening Star captured the joyous mood: “As we write Washington city is in such a blaze of excitement and enthusiasm as we never before witnessed here…The thunder of cannon; the ringing of bells; the eruption of flags from every window and housetop,
BROADSIDE FROM THE FIRST WEEK OF APRIL 1865.
the shouts of enthusiastic gatherings in the streets; all echo the glorious report. RICHMOND IS OURS!!!”
The news spread through the capital, reported the Star, by word of mouth: “The first announcement of the fact made by Secretary of War Stanton in the War Department building caused a general stampede of the employees of that establishment into the street, where their pent-up enthusiasm had a chance for vent in cheers that would assuredly have lifted off the roof from that building had they been delivered with such vim inside…The news caught up and spread by a thousand mouths caused almost a general suspension of business, and the various newspaper offices especially were besieged with excited crowds.”
Lincoln’s favorite newsman, Noah Brooks, who was set to begin his new job soon as private secretary to the president, recorded the moment: “The news spread like wildfire through Washington…from one end of Pennsylvania Avenue to the other the air seemed to burn with the bright hues of the flag. The sky was shaken by a grand salute of eight hundred guns, fired by order of the Secretary of War—three hundred for Petersburg and five hundred for Richmond. Almost by magic the streets were crowded with hosts of people, talking, laughing, hurrahing, and shouting in the fullness of their joy…”
The Union capital celebrated without President Lincoln, who was still in the field. While Washington rejoiced, Edwin Stanton worried about Lincoln’s security. He had always believed that Lincoln did not do enough to assure his own safety. No longer so eager to have Lincoln at the front, Stanton urged him to return to Washington. Lincoln’s telegram advising Stanton that he would visit General Grant at City Point on April 3 alarmed the secretary of war, who urged the president not to go to the front lines. “I congratulate you and the nation on the glorious news in your telegram just recd. Allow me respectfully to ask you to consider whether you ought to expose the nation to the consequence of any disaster to yourself in the pursuit of a treacherous and dangerous enemy like the rebel army. If it was a question concerning yourself only I should not presume to say a word. Commanding Generals are in the line of duty in running such risks. But is the political head of a nation in the same condition.”
Davis did not arrive in Danville until 4:00 P.M. on April 3. Much had happened in Richmond, and elsewhere, while he was languishing aboard the train. It had taken eighteen hours to travel just 140 miles. The train had averaged less than ten miles per hour, and at some points, especially on uphill grades, it could barely move at all. Sometimes the train stopped completely. This sorry performance demonstrated the lamentable state of the Confederate railroad system. The plodding journey from Richmond to Danville made clear another uncomfortable truth. If Jefferson Davis hoped t
o avoid capture, continue the war, and save the Confederacy, he would have to move a lot faster than this. Still, the trip had served its purpose. It had saved, for at least another day, the Confederate States of America. If Davis had allowed himself to be captured or killed on April 2 or 3, the Civil War might have ended the day Richmond fell. By fleeing, Davis ensured that the fall of the city was not fatal to the cause. As Mrs. Robert E. Lee, who endured the occupation, said, “Richmond is not the Confederacy.”
The government on wheels unpacked and set up in Danville on the afternoon and evening of April 3. For two reasons, Davis hoped to remain there indefinitely, depending upon word of General Lee’s prospects. First, as long as Davis stayed in Danville, he was maintaining a symbolic toehold in Virginia. He abhorred the idea of abandoning the Confederacy’s principal state to the invaders. If circumstances forced a retreat from Danville, Davis would have no choice but to continue south and cross the North Carolina state line. Second, Danville put him in a better position to send and receive communications. Without military intelligence, it would be difficult to issue orders or coordinate the movements of his armies. It would be hard for his commanders to telegraph the president or send dispatch riders with the latest news if he stayed on the move, if they did not know where to find him, and if they had to chase him from town to town. In Danville he had everything he needed to continue the war.
Secretary Mallory rattled off a checklist of their resources: “Heads of departments, chief clerks, books and records; Adjutant General of the army Samuel Cooper with the material and personnel of his office, all the essential means for conducting the government, were here; and so able and expert were these agents, that a few hours only, and a half-dozen log cabins, tents, and even wagons, would have sufficed for putting it in fair working order.”
Bloody Crimes Page 4